GIFT  OF 

THOMAS   RUTHERFORD  BACON 
MEMORIAL  LIBRARY  


AND    OTHER    POEMS 


NEW     HAVEN 

PRINTED     FOR     PRIVATE     CIRCULATION 
1880 


COPYRIGHT    SECURED. 


As  one  who,  strolling  on  some  autumn  day 

Through    woods   with   summer's   life   no   longer 

crowned, 
Gathers  the  treasures  fallen  from  many  a  spray. 

And  shows  his  friends  the  choicest  he  has  found; 
So,  little  book,  do  I,  in  life's  decay, 

And  seeing  close  at  hand  its  wintry  bound, 

Bid  thee,  with  silent  footstep  go  around 
To  those  that  know  me  best,  and  whispering  say  : 

"  These  leaves,  long   pressed   within   the  book   of 

years, 
From  which  the  colors  may  not  quite  have  fled, 

Seek  private  audience  from  kindly  ears, 
To  tell  what  thoughts  my  summer  hours  once  fed 

Receive  them  with  mild  silence;  scorn  them  not; 

Let  him  that  sends  them  be  not  quite  forgot." 


272522 


I  thought  thy  kingdom  was  in  haste  to  come; 
That  whatsoe'er  was  good  or  true  or  free, 
High  thought,  good  life,  pure  faith,  true  liberty, 
At  length  had  built  on  earth  their  lasting  home. 
But  just  as  this  bright  dawn  I  thought  to  see, 
New  clouds  arose,  the  sky  began  to  lower, 
Doubt  strove  with  faith,  religion  lost  her  power, 
Freedom  grew  wild,  or  brought  forth  slavery. 
"  Are  these  the  hopes  of  man  and  earth?"  I  cried, 
"  Must  good  and  evil  bear  alternate  sway  ? 
O  let  there  shine  or  one  perpetual  day, 
Or  one  black  night  fall  on  earth's  hope  and  pride." 
"  O  fool !"  the  sky  gave  answer,  "thus  to  pray; 
Darkness  and  light  both  speed  God's  glorious  way." 


The  shapes  that  frowned  before  the  eyes, 

Of  the  early  world  have  fled, 
And  all  the  life  of  earth  and  skies, 

Of  streams  and  seas  is  dead. 

Forgotten  is  the  Titan's  fame, 

The  dread  Chimaera  now 
Is  but  a  mild  innocuous  flame 

Upon  a  mountain's  brow. 
Around  whose  warmth  its  strawberry  red 
Th'  arbutus  hangs,  and  goat-herds  tread. 

And  now  has  Typho  spent  his  rage, 

The  Sirens  now  no  more 
Entice  the  song-struck  mariner 

To  give  his  voyage  o'er. 
The  sailor  past  Messina  hies, 
And  scorns  the  den  where  Scylla  lies. 


Leda's  twin  sons  no  more  are  seen 

In  battle's  hottest  press, 
Nor  shine  the  wind-tost  waves  between 

To  seamen  in  distress. 

The  muse  is  but  the  poet's  soul, 
That  looked  towards  Helicon, 

And  for  its  living  thought  divine 
Raised  up  a  mountain  throne. 

But  ah  !   is  nought  save  fable  slain 
In  this  new  realm  of  thought? 

Or  has  the  shaft  Primeval  Truth 
And  Truth's  great  Author  sought  ? 

Yes,  wisdom  now  is  built  on  sense; 

We  measure  and  we  weigh, 
We  break  and  join,  make  rare  and  dense, 

And  reason  God  away. 


The  wise  have  probed  this  wondrous  world, 
And  searched  the  stars,  and  find 

All  curious  facts  and  laws  revealed 
But  no  Almighty  mind 

From  thinking  dust  \ve  mould  the  spheres, 
And  shape  earth's  wondrous  frame  : 

If  God  had  slept  a  million  years, 
All  things  would  be  the  same. 

0  give  me  back  a  world  of  life, 
Something  to  love  and  trust, 

Something  to  quench  my  inward  strife, 
And  lift  me  from  the  dust. 

1  cannot  live  with  nature  dead, 

Mid  laws  and  causes  blind; 
Powerless  on  earth,  or  overhead, 
To  trace  th'  all-guiding  mind  ; 


Then  boast  that  I  have  found  the  keys 
That  time  and  space  unlock, 

That  snatch  from  heaven  its  mysteries, 
Its  fear  from  the  earthquake  shock. 

Better  the  instinct  of  the  brute 

That  feels  its  God  afar, 
Than  reason,  to  his  praises  mute, 

Talking  with  every  star. 

Better  the  thousand  deities 

That  swarmed  in  Greece  of  yore, 

Than  thought  that  scorns  all  mysteries 
And  dares  all  depths  to  explore. 

Better  is  childhood's  thoughtless  trust 
Than  manhood's  daring  scorn; 

The  fear  that  creeps  along  the  dust 
Than  doubt  in  hearts  forlorn. 


And  knowledge,  if  it  cost  so  dear 

If  such  be  reason's  day, 
I'll  lose  the  pearl  without  a  tear, 

And  grope  my  star-lit  way. 

And  be  the  toils  of  wisdom  curst 
If  such  the  meed  we  earn  ; 

If  freezing  pride  and  doubt  are  nurst, 
And  faith  forbid  to  burn. 


The  age  of  reason  and  of  truth 

Stands  sternly  cold  before  my  eyes, 
Killing  the  fancies  of  my  youth, 

Profaning  hoary  mysteries; 
Until  the  world  has  grown  so  small 

That  faith  and  hope  can  find  no  room, 
And  science  makes  the  mind  its  thrall, 

And  earth  becomes  a  dreary  tomb, 
Where  logic  reigns,  that  cures  no  sorrow, 

And  speaks  no  promise  for  to-morrow. 
So  on  we  go  :  The  eager  joy, 

By  wondrous  laws  and  facts  supplied, 
Can  long  our  serious  hours  employ, 

Can  feed  our  thoughts  and  swell  our  pride. 
But  to  be  blest  man  must  be  whole  ; 

The  half  no  fount  of  life  contains 
Head  without  heart,  mind  without  soul 

Must  pine  in  everlasting  pains. 


If  with  unequal,  separate  pace 

Feeling  and  thought  pursue  their  race, 
We  curse  at  length  our  studious  hours, 

And  curse  our  lives,  and  curse  our  powers, 
And  own  that  we  have  lost  our  light ; 

Or  by  experience  sharp  find  out 
That  science  deviates  into  doubt, 

And  shuts  her  day  in  starless  night. 

But  there's  a  brighter  world  than  this 
Where  knowledge  holds  her  lamp  amiss. 
The  world  of  beauty  shall  be  mine, 
Whose  images  of  things  divine, 
Kindled  aloft  beyond  the  stars, 
Have  floated  round  my  prison-bars. 
Art  shall  with  no  ungrudging  hand 
Her  treasures  place  at  my  command. 
The  poets  shall  my  masters  be, 
And  beauty  I  abide  with  thee, 
And  pluck  thy  flowers  where'er  they  spring 
And  listen  to  thy  carolling, 
ii 


Gilded  by  thee  the  earth  is  fair ; 
The  olden  times  new  glories  wear. 
But  brightest  shines  that  rocky  land 

Of  Greece,  where  poets  were  the  kings, 
Where  every  dell  and  every  strand 

Some  legend  sang  of  beauteous  things; 
Where  waters  gushing  from  the  earth 
From  life  of  nymph  derived  their  birth, 
And  every  hill's  cloud-piercing  crest 
Some  god's  or  hero's  presence  blest. 
Here  Oeta's  wilds  the  pyre  supplied 
Where  all  the  man  in  Hercules  died. 
There  Aegae's  beach  the  king  of  waves 
Held  on  his  path  from  sailor's  graves, 
There  Delos  rose  amid  the  sea 
Apollo's  place  of  birth  to  be, 
And  Delphi  with  its  serpent  slain 
Became  his  oracle  and  fane. 


Yes  !   I  will  stand  where  Ion  swept 
The  temple  porch  and  gaily  sung, 

And  stand  where  sad  Electra  wept, 

While  on  her  brother's  neck  she  hung 
Sharpening  his  soul  to  vengeance  with  her 
tongue. 

And  on  Lemnos'  silent  shore 

I  will  watch  the  glistening  oar, 

That  sent  Laertes'  wily  son 

Where  Troy's  destructive  arrows  might  be  won 

And  will  bewail  that  luckless  child 

Exposed  upon  Cithseron  wild, 

Who  spilt  his  father's  blood,  and  sped 

By  destiny,  won  his  mother's  bed; 

Till  eyeless,  cursed,  driven  away, 

To  furies  of  the  mind  a  prey, 

To  Athens'  sacred  groves  he  hies 

And  near  his  pious  daughters  dies. 


O,  what  a  daughter,  sister  she, 
That  Theban  girl  Antigone, 
Who  braved  the  forms  of  death  most  dread 
To  strew  with  funeral  dust  the  dead, 
Who,  when  heaven's  bolts  were  falling  fast 
And  all  things  hid  them  from  the  blast, 
Law  and  the  sovereign's  wrath  defied 
And  for  her  brother's  ashes  died. 

Ah !  those  were  times  when  men  were  free, 
And  thought  flowed  easily  along, 

When  faith  was  boundless  as  the  sea, 
And  all  things  yielded  fruit  for  song. 

But  there  where  Beauty  held  her  court, 
Where  the  bright  Graces  loved  to  sport, 
All  art  and  song  and  every  scene 

Was  consecrate  to  lust, 
Nor  star  shone  out  the  clouds  between 

To  greet  my  hope  and  trust. 


Truth  hid  her  face,  and  fancy  drew 

A  picture  earthly  and  untrue. 

And  when  the  spells  had  lost  their  power, 

The  burdens  of  each  active  hour 

Grew  heavier  still,  and  life  less  fair, 

And  all  my  comforts,  thinest  air. 

So  in  my  discontent  I  cried — 

I  need  a  surer,  trustier  guide, 

Who  has,  himself,  earth's  burdens  borne 

And  knows  th*  unrest  of  hearts  forlorn  ; 

And  has,  himself  by  sin  been  tried 

And  in  the  encounter  did  not  slide; 

And  has  some  balm  of  truth  to  apply 

Unknown  to  earth's  exploring  eye; 

And  is  not  too  severely  good 

To  pity  erring  flesh  and  blood, 

Yet  is  so  pure,  that  I  can  draw 

From  him  my  wisdom  and  my  law  ; 


And  has  some  hope,  not  learnt  of  earth, 
Some  promise  sure  of  heavenly  birth, 
Some  opening  in  the  skies,  to  show 
To  such  as  doubt  but  long  to  know. 
I  know  him  now;  once  in  my  pride, 
When  he  stood  meekly  by  my  side, 
When,  without  flattery  or  pretence 
He  told  me  truth  transcending  sense, 
I  saw  no  majesty  or  grace 
Amid  the  furrows  of  his  face. 
But  I  am  wTiser,  though  not  wise; 
The  veil  is  lifted  from  my  eyes. 
His  form  a  godlike  semblance  wears, 
His  word  all  fruit  of  knowledge  bears  : 
His  life  is  beauty,  and  his  love 
Has  power  my  deepest  heart  to  move. 
I  bow,  I  love,  I  know,  I  see, 
And  my  theology  shall  be 
Faith  in  God's  infinite  mystery, 
And  hope  serene,  O  Christ  in  thee. 


O  Freedom,  oft  invoked,  and  much  believed. 

But  most  by  those  who  ne'er  have  seen  thy  face, 
Is  it  that  thou  art  false,  and  we  deceived, 

Or  has  some  mocking  semblance  stol'n  thy  place. 
Thee  the  slave  worships,  as  some  unknown  God, 
Far  off,  and  longs,  like  watchman,  for  thy  day  ; 
For  thee  he  bleeds  and  breaks  the  oppressor's  rod, 
Then  throws  thee  as  some  worn-out  toy  away. 
Where  thou  art  seen  the  soul  awakes 
And  runs,  but  oft  the  path  mistakes, 
Till,  humbled  by  the  scoffs  of  time 
Or  startled  by  some  hideous  crime, 
It  finds  its  struggles  all  in  vain, 
Its  hopes  mere  fever  of  the  brain. 


Thy  seed  is  cast,   now  by  the  river's  side 

That  swells  and  overspreads  the  vale  with  sand; 
Now  in  some  soil  just  opened  must  it  hide, 

Where  poisonous  plants  and  bushy  thickets  stand. 
When  wast  thou  e'er  so  blest,  that  sun  and  rain, 

And  air  and  earth,  in  right  proportions  blending, 
Helped  thee  to  till  thy  fields  not  all  in  vain, 
A  ripened  harvest  to  thy  labors  sending. 

Yea,  when  thy  ploughshare  breaks  the  ground, 

Earth  shakes,  and  thunders  roll  around ; 

As  though  no  seed  of  natural  birth 

Were  to  be  trusted  to  the  earth, 

But  some  dread  particle  of  fire, 

Which,  grown,  should  kindle  and  blaze  higher, 

And  riding  on  the  winds  devour 

Mountain  and  plain  and  city  tower. 


18 


Thou  burnest  in  the  bosoms  of  the  good 

An  airlike  flame  of  health,  a  gentle  breath, 
Scarce  known,  save  when  thy  foe  must  be  subdued, 

Or  the  free  mind  welcomes  a  martyr's  death. 
Where  poisonous  crime  nods  proudly  in  its  flower, 
And  might's  strong  hand  sways  down  the  scales  ot 

truth, 

Then  burns  thy  wrath,  then  comes  thine  arming  hour, 
And  thou  dost  gird  thee  with  the  mail  of  youth. 
Thy  trumpet  sounds  throughout  the  land 
And  calls  to  war  that  sacred  band. 
Gentle  or  rude,  to  whom  is  given. 
Beneath  the  flag  of  righteous  heaven, 
A  fearless  mind  abhorring  wrong, 
And  faith  that  makes  the  victor  strong. 


And  how  shall  tyrants  boldly  fill  the  throne, 

When  thou  art  gently  gaining  every  breast, 
Till  with  a  score  of  tools  they  stand  alone 

Against  the  banded  wrath  of  all  th'  oppressed. 
Can  courts  and  slavish  lawyers  help  them  more, 
When  common  men  are  free,  and  juries  bold  ? 
Can  guns  and  forts  drive  freedom  from  the  shore 
When  armies  on  her  covenant  are  enrolled? 
Aye!   weave  your  plots  in  secret  room, 
And  swear  your  league  for  freedom's  doom 
But  even  amid  your  mysteries  curst 
The  storm  you  knew  not  of  has  burst ; 
Your  helpers  vanish  like  a  cloud, 
And  silence  scares  your  palace  proud  ; 
Or  voices  sound  along  the  walls 
'  That  he  who  tilts  with  freedom  falls.' 


20 


But  in  the  bad  thou  art  a  noxious  flame, 

Maddening  the  brain,  and  deadly  to  the  heart, 
Driving  to  deeds  of  rashness  and  of  shame 

The  embittered  soul  where  mercy  has  no  part. 
The  old  to  thee  is  hateful  ;  on  the  new 

Thou  launches!  in  thine  ignorance  without  guide; 
Thou  deals't  thy  strokes  against  the  mighty  few, 
And  fill'st  the  envious  throng  with  deadly  pride. 
Before  thee  thrones  and  priesthoods  fall, 
And  plundering  hordes  obey  thy  call 
To  sack  art's  choicest  treasured  stores. 
Arid  burn  the  fane  where  man  adores. 
But  thou  art  mother  of  no  arts 
To  guide  and  temper  human  hearts; 
Nor,  dread  destroyer,  dost  thou  raise 
New  temples  to  the  God  of  grace. 


Years  pass  away,  and  thy  tumultuous  sea 

Has  only  tossed  in  vain  ;  no  genial  birth 
Grows  up  and  waves  in  wholesome  liberty, 

But  crowds  of  slaves  still  crawl  upon  the  earth. 
The  worn-out  nations  hug  their  chains  in  peace : 

The  tyrant  claims  to  be  thy  lawful  child  : 
The  woes  and  servitudes  of  man  increase; 
New  burdens  on  his  bending  neck  are  pil'd. 
Thee  then  he  curses,  robbed,  betrayed, 
And  curses  those  who  drive  thy  trade, 
Whose  folly  or  whose  fraud  has  turned 
To  gall  the  sweets  his  labor  earned, 
Then  desperate  plunges  in  the  wave, 
And  looks  for  freedom  to  the  grave. 


But  is  it  so?     Is  freedom  but  a  name 

For  what  one  age  begat,  the  next  shall  kill  ? 
Must  years  of  pride  give  way  to  years  of  shame, 

And  the  old  drama  end  with  slavery  still? 
Shall  freedom's  struggles,  shall  her  painful  birth, 
Slaughters  and  triumphs  seal  no  lasting  good? 
Shall  she,  scarce  seen,  expire,  as  born  of  earth. 
And  leave  her  treasures  to  a  tyrant's  brood  ? 
Ah  !   if  men's  hopes  are  restless  waves 
That  rise  to  fall,  let  men  be  slaves. 
Better  to  sleep  on  power's  cold  breast, 
Than  toss  and  turn  in  wild  unrest. 
But  if  God's  will  a  steady  way 
Decrees  from  darkness  to  bright  day, 
Then  let  the  cry,  "  freedom  all  hail," 
Be  heard,  where'er  she  spreads  her  sail. 


MANHOOD. 

The  dream  of  youth  is  now  fulfilled; 

And  life,  that  strange  mysterious  thing, 

In  flight  adventurous  spreads  its  wing  : 

Manhood,  full  opening,  blossoms  on  the  child. 

Thou  soberer  of  human  joys, 

Of  hopes  too  proud  the  foe, 

Reflection,  aid  me  now  to  trace 

The  ills  and  dangers  of  the  race, 

And  by  thy  kind  persuasive  voice 

Lay  passion's  spectres  low. 

For  shall  the  traveler  fear  to  stray, 

And  ask  at  every  turn  the  way, 

But  I,  by  chance,  at  random,  driven, 

Not  knowing  whence,  nor  knowing  where, 

Float  like  the  down  upon  the  air, 

And  fail  at  last  of  heaven. 


24 


First,  life  is  sadder,  soberer  now, 

Its  gayer  hues  are  brushed  away, 

Like  wild  flowers  speedy  to  decay, 

Or  like  the  tints  that  fade  from  evening's  brow 

Yet  hope  and  passion  still  are  young, 

Still  put  forth  poisonous  flowers, — 

Ten  thousand  plans  and  fancies  vain, 

That  fill  the  breast  with  care  and  pain, 

And  ripen  fruit  like  that  which  hung 

Near  Sodom's  blasted  towers. 

If  once  deceived,  why  trust  them  more, 

Or  waste  my  days, — a  scanty  store,— 

Learning  'twere  better  not  to  sin  : 

Life  is  too  short,  too  vast  the  stake 

Fruitless  experiments  to  make, 

And  end  where  I  begin. 


25 


Some  throw  themselves  on  life,  when  young, 

Hot  with  desire  its  fruits  to  taste, 

Nor  solid  hours  in  sloth  to  waste, 

Till  all  be  plucked  that  on  its  branches  hung. 

But  time  !   what  secrets  thou  canst  tell 

Of  ruined  hopes,  of  blank  despair  : 

A  straw,  a  moment,  turns  the  scale 

From  joys  assured  to  hopes  that  fail. 

Fools  !   thus  to  drain  life's  bitter  well 

For  sweets  that  spring  riot  there. 

Or  on  their  path,  more  sure  than  they, 

Death  mows  their  high  grown  hopes  away. 

Death,  whom  no  prayers  or  tears  can  bend. 

"At  life's  great  banquet  sits  a  crowd, 

But  many  a  mirthful  guest  and  loud 

Will  rise  before  the  end."* 

*  From  Victor  Hugo — 

Au  grand  banquet  de  vie  siege  une  foule  avide, 
Mais  bien  des  convies  laissent  leurs  places  vides, 
Et  se  levent  avant  le  fin. 

26 


But  happier  they  than  those  who  laugh 

At  right  and  wrong,  at  God  and  man  ; 

Who  dare  the  heavens  to  mar  their  plan, 

And  guilt's  full  bowl  in  drunken  madness  quaff. 

With  mingled  heaps  of  wealth  their  bark 

They  freight  and  leave  the  shore ; 

A  summer's  peace  is  in  their  skies, 

Across  the  deep  their  vessel  flies; 

God  seems  not  now  their  pride  to  mark, 

And  weighs  their  crimes  no  more. 

But  look  !  the  heaven's  are  overcast, 

Shivered  the  sailyard  and  the  mast, 

Into  the  deep  their  wealth  is  thrown. 

They  cry ;  the  Just  one  hears  not  now, 

Till  on  the  rock  of  right  their  prow 

Strikes,  and  they  sink  unknown.* 

*  The  last  lines  of  this  verse  are  imitated  from  the  Furies  of 
jfEschylus,  vv.  555-565. 


Then  be  the  wisdom  mine,  on  earth 

To  seek  no  ground  to  build  upon, 

Where  time  can  shake  the  building  down, 

Or  death  must  drive  its  short-lived  tenant  forth. 

But  I  will  look  beyond  the  reign 

Of  change  and  sin  and  flesh, 

To  those  blest  seats  in  heaven  above, 

Where  purity  of  heart  and  love, 

That  wither  on  this  sandy  plain, 

May  grow  and  bloom  afresh. 

And  thou,  O  Christ,  shalt  be  my  guide; 

My  light,  when  all  is  dark  beside; 

My  love,  if  foes  beset  me  round  : 

Thou  this  same  path  on  earth  didst  try, 

Thou  to  thy  pilgrims  wilt  be  nigh, 

Till  all  in  heaven  are  found. 


28 


Much  I  applaud  thee,  as  I  hear  thee  say, 
"  O  comrade  be  not  indolently  good, 
For  sunlight  deeds  are  virtue's  chosen  food, 
But  shade  and  silence  wear  her  powers  away." 
Tis  true;  but  when  I  hear  the  noisy  brood 
Of  tongue-deep  innovators  whom  the  ray 
Of  heated  action  spawns  in  this  our  day, 
Foes  of  old  thought  and  truth  that  long  has 

stood, 

Why,  then,  the  desert  and  the  eremite's  cell 
Or  cave,  the  refuge  lone  of  heavenly  thought, 
Seems  fitter  by  the  good  man  to  be  sought 
Than  longer  in  this  deafening  crowd  to  dwell. 
There  truth  by  waiting  eyelids  may  be  caught, 
And  lessons  learnt,  which  action  cannot  spell. 


When  the  loud  cries  and  noises  strike  my  ears, 

That  rise  from  action,  in  this  clamorous  age, 

Like  din  of  armies  when  they  battle  wage, 
At  times  they  wake  my  mirth,  at  times  my  tears  : 

For  I  bethink  me  of  the  sun  and  stars 
That  steady  wheel  but  noiseless  in  their  spheres, 
And  think  how  silently,  when  spring  appears, 

The  plants  and  trees  burst  winter's  prison  bars. 
Good  deeds  now  rise  not  silent  and  alone, 

But  need  the  scaffolding  of  vote  and  speech  ; 
While  brazen  trumpets,  loud  by  printers  blown. 

And  platforms  thronged  their  praise  to  thousands 

preach  ; 
But  he  who  dares  for  goodness  live  unknown 

Hath  gained  a  height  men  seek  not  now  to  reach. 


Deluded  age  which  thinks  or  seems  to  think 
That  naught  is  action  save  what  can  be  seen  ; 
And  sets  a  brand  upon  the  brow  serene 
Of  those,  who  from  the  gaze  of  crowds  would 

shrink  : 

And  they,  who  rush  not  boldest  to  the  brink 
Of  novelties,  seem  coward  souls  and  mean ; 
And  they,  who  pause  and  meditate  between 
Their  deeds,  at  wisdom's  well  ne'er  learned  to 

drink. 

Action  is  prayer  upon  the  sick  man's  bed  ; 
Action  is  silence,  where  a  word  might  wound ; 
Action  is  bold  rebuke,  where  crowds  are  led 
To  assault  the  walls  which  gird  old  truth  around. 
Action  seeks  shelter,  when  the  wind's  ahead, 
While  those  who   dare  the  stormy  waves  are 

drowned. 


There  is  one  faith  where  all  believers  rest; — 
The  Father  pardoning  sinners  through  the  Son, 
Bowing  their  hearts  to  say  "thy  will  be  done," 
And  dwelling  in  them  by  his  presence  blest. 
This  faith  it  is  that  makes  Christ's  followers  one  : 
This  faith  all  tongues,  all  centuries  attest : 
It  warms  and  shines  in  every  humble  breast, 
Shunning  the  worldly  and  the  proud  alone. 
This  has  cheered  ignorant  hermits  in  their  cell, 
Who  groped  long  time  the  way  to  heaven  to  find. 
This  lights  the  Hottentot's  half-human  mind  ; 
This  in  the  Esquimaux's  snow  hut  can  dwell; 
This  shall  with  cords  of  love  join  all  mankind, 
And  be  the  victory  o'er  the  gates  of  hell. 


32 


GALATIANS,   vi.  2,  5. 

I  looked  and  saw  two  different  companies 

Who  traveled  the  same  road,  but  wide  apart. 

Each  pilgrim  had  a  burden  at  the  start, 

Which,  as  he  journeyed  onwards,  grew  in  size. 

These  looked  not  on  each  other  with  a  heart 

Of  sympathy,  nor  felt  their  sorrows  rise 

To  see  the  pangs  of  anguish,  that  would  dart 

Through  the  flushed  countenance  and  bloodshot  eyes 

Of  fellow  traveler.     None  would  lay  his  load 

Aside,  to  help  his  brother  up  the  hill, 

And  oft  they  pushed  each  other  from  the  road 

And  ever,  as  they  journeyed,  quarreled  still : 

Their  law  was,  "  Each  must  his  own  burden  bear," 

Therefore  their  burdens  grew  to  blank  despair. 


33 


Such  was  this  crew ;  how  far  diverse  were  they 
Who  seemed  a  gloomier  band  at  the  first  look  : 
And  more  had  they  to  do,  to  watch  and  pray 
And  often  study  o'er  a  little  book, 
Besides  each  other's  burden  that  they  took 
With  gladness  on  their  backs;   and  on  the  way 
They  yielded  each  to  th'  other:  none  forsook 
The  tired,  or  by  the  fall'n  refused  to  stay. 
None  was  so  mean  that  all  did  not  behold 
In  him  a  brother  high  in  rank  and  place, 
Whence  the  faint-hearted  daily  grew  more  bold, 
And  those  who  lagged  behind  revived  their  pace. 
Their  law  was,  "One  another's  burdens  bear," 
Therefore  their  burdens  grew  as  light  as  air. 


34 


How  long  hath  autumn  hung  upon  the  wing, 
Nor  crossed  in  flight,  like  passage  bird,  our  skies  , 
No  fleece  of  Northern  snow,  saddening  our  eyes, 
Hath  thrown  its  shroud  over  the  births  of  spring. 
Still  lives  the  earth  ;  nature  has  time  to  sing 
Her  hymn  of  finished  toil,  e'er  night  arise, 
Nor  yet  the  smile  of  clouds  grows  stern  and  dies, 
Nor  wind-tost  leaves  menace  of  winter  bring. 
Still  stay,  thou  season  mild  with   matron  charms, 
Calmer  of  summer's  fires,  queen  of  the  year, 
Folding  thy  ripened  offspring  in  thine  arms, 
By  golden  sunsets  crowned,  and  mornings  clear. 
Still  stay,  nor  dreading  winter's  wild  alarms 
Withdraw  afar  to  leave  us  mourning  here. 


The  time  of  autumn's  ripened  leaves  comes  round; 
The  woods  are  blooming  since  the  flowers'  decay. 
Climb  to  the  naked  hilltop  and  survey 
The  forest  belt  that  on  the  slope  is  bound  ; 
Or  from  the  lake,  upon  this  windless  day, 
Look  yonder  on  the  many-colored  shore, 
With  oaks  and  crimson  maples  dappled  o'er, 
Yellow  with  ash,  with  dogwood  bright,  and  say — 
Can  ruined  tower,  which  legends  wait  upon, 
Where  spirits  of  old  time,  half  visible,  hide, 
Or  all  the  glories  of  the  Parthenon 
Such  sober  joy  for  gentler  hearts  provide, 
As  these  eternal  woods,  our  country's  crown, 
Where  of  all  lands  autumn  most  loves  to  abide. 


As  here  I  stand,  and  look  upon  the  spires 
Of  churches  planted  o'er  this  happy  plain, 
And  watch  the  grazing  herds  and  fields  of  grain, 
And  peaceful  smoke,  wafted  from  household  fires, 
And  hear  the  murmuring  brook  that  never  tires, 
And  happy  shout  of  boys,  and  creaking  wain  ; 
Why  longer  should  my  soul  wish  back  again 
That  antique  time  so  dear  to  poet's  lyres? 
The  healthy  mind  may  seek  a  choice  repast 
In  scenes  where  freedom  and  religion  dwell  : 
Tis  true  each  storied  ruin,  with  its  spell 
Of  sadness,  lowly  whispered,  binds  us  fast; 
But  wherefore  should  our  eyes  refuse  to  taste 
Of  beauty  till  we  hear  its  funeral  knell. 


37 


What  here  I  see  of  plenty  and  of  peace, 
Of  quiet  labor  and  domestic  joy, 
All  speaks  religion's  triumphs  and  the  employ 
Of  virtuous  means  to  gain  earth's  happiness. 
If  but  an  age  or  two  could  so  much  bless 
This  plain  ;  if  hamlets  swarm  with  girl  and  boy, 
Where  whilom  Indians  waited  to  destroy, 
And  chiming  bells  invade  the  wilderness; 
Why  should  we  fear  that  all  the  hopes  are  told, 
That  grew  so  richly  on  this  western  shore? 
The  soil  religion  breaks  kind  heavens  behold; 
The  precious  seed  her  hands  with  weeping  bore 
Shall  wax,  while  all  besides  of  earth  grows  old, 
And  harvests  yield,  till  time  shall  be  no  more. 


When  I  behold  the  strifes  and  jealousies, 
Within  the  fold  of  Christ  on  every  side, 
Which  brethren,  who  in  love  once  walked,  divide 

For  reasons  light  as  air  in  just  men's  eyes, 

I  think  how  high-souled  worldlings  must  despise 
Such  questions  vain,  so  vainly  magnified, 
And  rather  trust  to  virtues  built  on  pride 

Than  drink  at  fountains  where  such  fumes  arise. 

Woe  to  the  factious  ones,   who  cause  the  offense  : 
And  woe  to  those  wTho  blindly  misapply 
Their  measuring  line;  and,  if  they  faults  espy, 

Straightway  religion  brand  as  sheer  pretense, 
Rather  than  upward  turn  to  Christ  the  eye, 

And  draw  the  portrait  of  a  Christian  thence. 


39 


Vain  were  the  longings  of  the  hermit's  cell 

By  fasts  and  contemplation  God  to  find  : 

Pride  rose  and  built  its  throne  in  th'  empty  mind, 
Which,  more  divorced  from  God,  with  him  to  dwell 

Hoped  fondlier,  ignorant  of  its  wants  and  blind; 
Or  sensual  loves,  old  bondsmen,  would  rebel, 
And  fill  the  bosom  with  the  flames  of  hell, 

Stripped  of  its  hopes  and  banished  from  mankind. 
He,  who  would  God  enjoy,  with  him  be  one, 

Needs  no  high  path  or  from  mankind  away  : 
Go  to  the  Father,  sinner,  through  the  Son 

With  lowly  mind,  and  thou  canst  never  stray. 

Thy  faith  shall  lock  the  door  to  pride,  and  lay 
The  chain  on  lust,  and  view  the  Holy  One. 


40 


Believing  sin  to  be  of  ills  the  worst, 

And  that  thy  grace  that  worst  of  ills  can  cure, 
And  that  the  sinful  soul  is  doubly  curst, 

When  that  worst  ill  least  ill  it  learns  to  endure; 

And  by  long  inward  sense  of  this  made  sure, 
That  through  this  ill's  strong  smart  my  heart  must 

burst, 
Unless  on  heavenly  manna  it  be  nurst, 

Or  numbness  next  to  death  all  hope  obscure; 
I  look  to  thee  alone :  be  thou  my  Lord. 

O  may  those  sins  that  would  my  soul  have  slain 
Themselves  be  slain  by  thine  almighty  sword; 
And  may  the  gentle  balsam  of  thy  word, 

From  which  so  long  I  sought  relief  in  vain, 

Applied  by  thine  own  hand  still  every  pain. 


I  shut  my  eyes  and  saw  before  my  thought, 

Just  at  the  portals  of  the  life  to  come, 

The  crowds  of  faithful  servants  traveling  home, 
Each  with  his  wTorks  before  his  Master  brought 
How  various  was  the  good  their  hands  had  wrought : 

One  had  borne  sorrows  meekly;  one  from  pain 
Had  sucked  the  sweets  of  patience ;  one  had  sought 

In  toil  for  souls  to  reach  their  highest  gain  ; 
One  was  vvjth  kindness  done  to  bodies  fraught; 

One  midst  earth's  riches  had  not  lived  in  vain. 
Their  Lord  received  them  gladly,  and  decreed 

To  each  his  post;  and  said  to  each  "well  done! 

Thou  wast  a  faithful  servant,  duteous  son, 
Short  was  thy  task,  eternal  be  thy  meed." 


PSYCHE, 

ON    A    BUTTERFLY    \VHICH    ALIGHTED    UPON    A    VESSEL    MANY    MILES    OUT    AT    SEA. 

Thou  light-winged  daughter  of  the  sky, 

Poor  wanderer,  blown  so  far  away 
From  honied  flowers  of  rival  dye, 

To  tyrant  winds  a  prey  ; — 
The  sunshine  knew  thee  from  thy  birth, 

The  winds,  they  loved  thee  still ; 
And,  when  thy  wing  o'er  road  and  field 
In  countless  mazes  gaily  wheel'd, 
Or  dropped  to  rest  upon  the  earth, 

Thou  hadst  no  dream  of  ill. 

But  now  I  see  thee  blown  on  high, 

Far,  far  above  thy  wonted  flight, 
And  turning  that  quick-glancing  eye 

Towards  sheltering  hill  in  sight. 
Then,  o'er  the  lonely,  boundless  sea, 

There,  where  thy  kind  are  strangers  all, 
Thy  helpless  wing  is  driven  : 
The  blast  that  stole  thee  sinks  to  sleep, 

And  wearied,  senseless,  thou  must  tall 

Down  from  thy  native  heaven. 
43 


But  what  is  this  new  hope,  that  brings 

Life's  wasted  treasure  to  thine  eye, 
And  fans  thy  meadow-wandering  wings? 

"Pis  not  thy  doom  to  die. 
Thou  art  a  painted  vessel's  guest 

That  flies  upon  its  way, 
The  sails,  full-sworn,  and  cleaving  prow 
Have  swept  the  path  to  land,  and  now 
Thou  roam'st  the  air,  a  freeman  blest, 
The  cup  of  dainty  flower  thy  rest, 

The  summer  sky  thy  sway. 

Most  like  to  thee  the  soul  appears, 
Gay-colored  tenant  of  the  earth, 

But  drawing  from  the  upper  spheres 
A  more  mysterious  birth. 


NAPOLEON  AND  WASHINGTON. 

(Rome,  1830.) 

How  oft  has  righteous  heaven 

To  earth  dread  scourges  given, — 
Stars  ris'n  in  blood,  to  set  in  darkness  drear; 

But  hope  waits  long  in  vain 

The  sight  of  one  to  gain 
Whose  name  with  reverence  coming  time  shall  hear. 

Let  Europe's  blood-stained  lord 

And  he,  whose  guiltless  sword 
Our  freedom  built,  in  scales  of  truth  be  hung  ; 

Look  where  their  pathways  bend, 

And  mark  their  different  end, 
And  which  was  great  declare  with  righteous  tongue. 

The  one  saw  opening  made 

For  war's  adventurous  trade, 
And  reap't  the  fields  where  bristle  armies  brave. 

Thrones  fall  before  his  sword, 

Kingdoms  obey  his  word, 

France  bows  the  knee,  and  Europe  is  his  slave. 
45 


His  purpose  is  like  light 

Shot  from  the  womb  of  night ; 
His  deed  sweeps  onward  swifter  than  the  wind  : 

The  wishes  of  his  soul, 

In  restless  billows  roll ; 
Their  rage  no  fear  of  man  or  God  can  bind. 

But  swifter  was  the  path 

Of  God's  avenging  wrath. 
His  work  once  done,  he  hurled  his  tool  away. 

Thou  thoughtest  thine  own  hand 

Raised  thee  and  made  thee  stand, 
But  thou  wast  lifted  up  to  work  thine  own  decay. 

The  island  of  the  sea 

Thy  prison  home  must  be. 
Thou'rt  nigh  forgot,  whilst  yet  men  quake  for  fear 

Of  kings  no  stately  race 

To  thee  their  line  shall  trace, 
From  thy  fall'n  trunk  no  royal  shoots  appear. 


46 


Now  turn  to  him  whose  heart 

Ne'er  played  the  warrior's  part, 
Whom  duty  summoned  to  the  field  of  blood. 

Thou  would'st  have  shunned  the  choice, 

But  loud  a  people's  voice 
Called  thee  to  guide  their  vessel  through  the  flood. 

To  them  and  righteous  heaven 

Thy  sword  and  life  were  given  : 
Through  good  and  ill  their  cause  thou   mad'st  thine 

When  heart  was  gone  and  hope  [own. 

Thy  wisdom  was  our  prop, 
Thy  patience  loosed  us  from  a  foreign  throne. 

Thus  from  the  fiery  strife 

Sprang  up  a  nation's  life  : 
But  who  shall  freedom's  deep  foundations  lay? 

Twas  thine  with  healing  hand 

To  unite  our  broken  land, 
We  called  thee  first  our  infant  state  to  sway, 


47 


But  soon  the  toils  of  power 

Give  way  to  quiet's  hour; 
Too  soon  thine  evening  rays  forsake  our  sky  ; 

Far  is  the  mourning  spread 

For  such  a  Father  dead, 
Deep  in  the  western  forests  ends  the  cry. 

Wide  is  our  home  and  free  : 

No  land  beyond  the  sea 
Had  such  a  dawn,  or  hoped  for  such  a  day. 

Oh,  who  can  count  the  throng 

That  with  the  voice  of  song 
Shall  bless  thy  name,  who  leddest  freedom's  way. 

But  he,  how  curst  his  lot, 

To  be  or  aye  forgot, 
Or  ne'er  forgiven,  with  man's  best  hopes  who  play'd. 

Ah  !   down  the  stream  of  time 

He  floats  a  wreck  sublime, 
Or  sinks  amid  the  ruin  he  has  made. 


48 


And  when  the  judge  of  all 
His  names  in  wrath  shall  call, 

AH  !   WHO  SHALL  COVET  HIS  SUPERIOR  PLACE? 
HE  MIGHT  HAVE  BLEST  BUT  CHOSE 
THE  WEAL  OF  MAN  TO  OPPOSE  ; 

HENCEFORTH  BE  RUIN  HIS,  AND  FOUL  DISGRACE. 


49 


Asleep  the  wearied  mother  lay, 

Her  infant  boy  fast  by  her  side; 
And  thought,  its  cares  all  swept  away, 

Roved  through  a  world  of  fancy  wide. 

When  lo  !  a  form  all  light  and  grace 
Stood  o'er  her  with  benignant  eye; 

Ne'er  had  she  seen  so  fair  a  face, 
Such  mild  and  heavenly  majesty. 

Thus  spake  the  form  :  "  Daughter  of  earth, 

Thou  hast  received  a  gift  divine, 
Thrice  happy  in  an  infant's  birth, 

Whose  soul  with  heaven's  best  rays  shall  shine. 

With  intellect  as  clear  and  bright 

As  sunbeams  fall  on  mountain  snow, 

Conceptions  like  a  fount  of  light, 

And  judgments  piercing  where  they  go, 


He  shall  with  ease  through  every  field 
Of  knowledge  whilst  a  stripling  rove; 

And  wiser  men  with  awe  shall  yield 
To  one  so  gifted  from  above. 

And  when  the  hill  of  years  he  gains 

Where  life's  wide  prospect  spreads  before  him, 
Then  \vill  I  crown  his  youthful  pains, 

And  spread  my  choicest  influence  o'er  him. 

In  senates  heard  with  deep  delight, 

The  safest  counsellor  in  the  land ; 
Or  at  the  bar  by  words  of  might 

O'erthrowing  all  who  dare  withstand  : 

Admired  and  loved,  from  place  to  place, 

Swiftly  and  safely  shall  he  rise 
Until  a  nation's  voice  shall  grace 

His  brow  with  honor's  highest  prize. 


Nought  shall  impede  his  stedfast  way: 

All  fortune's  storms  and  clouds  unknown, 

In  deep  old  age  he  sinks  away, 

And  leaves  a  radiance  where  he  shone. 

A  nation's  idol  while  alive, 

A  nation's  tears  his  death  shall  weep  ; 
Her  poets  in  his  praise  shall  strive, 

And  sculptured  stone  his  form  shall  keep. 

But  mark  !  though  patriot,  man  of  worth, 
Each  high  prized  name  to  him  belongs, 

He  wants  the  stamp  of  heavenly  birth, 
He  cannot  join  in  angel's  songs. 

Now  turn  thee  to  the  other  side  : 

Hear  how  another  destiny 
Awaits  the  boy;  and  let  thy  pride 

Or  wisdom  choose,  for  choice  is  free. 


In  youth  unknown  to  those  who  praise 
Almost  o'erlooked  by  those  who  love 

Obscurely  treading  virtue's  ways, 

And  sending  frequent  thoughts  above, 

He  seeks  some  private,  lowly  sphere, 
Where  such  as  he  may  act  their  part, 

Where  goodness  makes  companions  dear. 
And  heart  finds  close  approach  to  heart. 

There,  not  afar  from  those  who  mourn, 
Nor  seldom  at  the  sufferer's  bed, 

He  heals  the  mind  that  sin  had  torn 
And  lifts  the  widow's  drooping  head. 

And  though  to  earthly  fame  unknown, 
This  record  shall  be  read  on  high, 

That  few  with  brighter  virtue  shone, 
Or  found  it  greater  gain  to  die. 


53 


"  Now  choose,"  the  smiling  seraph  cried, 
"  I  wait  to  bear  to  heaven  thy  choice, 

Nor  say  that  aught  has  been  denied, 
Or  given  without  a  mother's  voice." 

He  ceased,  and  earth  appeared  so  fair, 

The  praise  of  man  so  blest  a  lot, 
That  she  a  moment  rested  there 

And  all  beyond  this  world  forgot. 

But  when  to  heaven  she  raised  her  mind, 
And  heard  the  Judge  decree  the  prize, 

She  cast  all  earthly  hopes  behind 

And  cried,  "  O  train  him  for  the  skies." 

"  Blest  choice,"  the  seraph  cried — "  'tis  thine 

Now  to  fulfill  what  God  has  given, 
That  he  with  heavenly  grace  may  shine 

Thyself  must  train  him  up  for  heaven." 

(This  was  published  many  years  ago  by  a  friend.) 

54 


Tired  with  long  wanderings  from  my  home 

In  search  of  empty  rest, 
Back  to  thy  presence,  Lord,  I  come,— 

Thy  presence  makes  me  blest. 

There  never  ceasing  quiet  dwells, 
There  peace  o'erspreads  the  mind  : 

The  world  has  broken  all  her  spells, 
And  lost  her  power  to  blind. 

Pride,  that  destroyer  of  my  bliss, 

And  self,  that  deadly  foe, 
Forsake  the  mount  where  Jesus  is, 

And  spread  their  nets  below. 

Ah,  mighty  sorcerers  of  the  soul, 

They  steal  our  life  from  God  : 
One  half  we  wander  from  the  goal, 

The  rest  enquire  the  road. 


55 


Sin  and  repentance  reign  by  turns, 

Maintaining  various  fight; 
And  still  the  heart  for  follies  burns, 

And  still  it  loves  the  right. 

Oft  stands  the  soul  in  doubt  to  choose 
The  world,  or  choose  her  prize, 

And  still  its  onward  way  pursues, 
With  half  averted  eyes. 

Oh  for  thy  help,  my  God,  my  life ! 

Force  earth  and  sin  to  yield; 
Fain  would  I  end  my  weary  strife, 

Fain  lay  aside  my  shield. 

Fain  would  I  send  no  thoughts  abroad 

In  quest  of  false  delight, 
But  through  the  desert  walk  with  God, 

Still  keeping  heaven  in  sight. 


Not  half  so  quick  the  swift  winged  fly 
Starts  from  the  finger's  touch  away, 

As  fleeting  moments  hasten  by 
Impatient  of  delay. 

"  Abide  with  me,"  we  cry,  "awhile 

Thou  short-lived  hour  of  joy  and  love: 

'Tis  gone,  unheeding,  many  a  mile 
Beyond  the  stars  above. 

No  turnings  back,  no  looks  toward  earth 
Delay  its  road  to  heaven's  court; 

There,  where  it  took  its  wondrous  birth, 
It  makes  its  last  report. 

O  Time,  of  heaven  thou  Daughter  dread, 
Sweet  as  earth's  gladdest  moments  be, 

Help  me  more  glad  the  sail  to  spread 
For  that  untraveled  sea. 


57 


How  oft  some  misty  trace  comes  back 
Of  what  we  felt  we  know  not  when, 

Some  sadly  happy  dream,  like  rack 
That  scuds  awhile,  then  fades  again. 

Oh  there  is  no  entire  forgetting : 

If  even  a  long-lost,  transient  thought, 

A  flashing  star,  whose  birth  and  setting 
The  self-same  point  of  time  has  brought,- 

If  this  now  fills  the  memory, 

Like  things  of  merry  yesterday  ; 

Oh  what  within  the  soul  can  die, 

What  dream  of  childhood  pass  away. 

They  lie  who  sing  that  man  is  fleeting, 
That  time  can  bury  up  the  past; 

Each  thought  is  but  the  pulse  that's  beating 
With  the  soul  while  heaven  shall  last. 


ABAELARD   AND   HELOISE.* 

'Twas  dusk  ;  six  men  with  noiseless  feet, 
Carrying  a  burden,  as  they  went, 

Halted  before  the  Paraclete, 

By  Cluny's  reverend  abbot  sent. 

They  bore  the  corpse  of  one  who  knew 
What  sinning  meant  and  what  to  rise, 

To  her,  in  shame  his  partner  true 
Partaker  of  his  penitent  sighs. 

"  Next  to  my  heart  through  ail  those  years,' 
She  said,  ''which  tore  my  heart  in  twain, 
«£ /    And  t»€t  my  sins  with  constant  tears, 
I  see  thee,  dearest  one  again  ; 

A  corpse  beloved,  a  chastened  friend. 
Who.  on  a  steep  and  rugged  road, 

From  fleshly  longings  didst  ascend 
Up  to  the  purity  of  God. 

*  (Apr.  21,  1142.) 
59 


I  have  my  prayer  once  more  to  abide, — 
Tempted  no  more,  nor  tempting  thee, — 

Near  God  and  closest  to  thy  side, 
Loving  and  loved  in  purity. 

Hard  was  thy  lot,  bright  beauteous  soul, 
All  light,  all  fire,  half  earth,  half  heaven  : 

Yet  all  is  well,  reached  is  the  goal, 

Peace  hast  thou  now,  O  much  forgiven. 

How  many  sin  without  a  dart 

Hurled  at  them  such  as  pierced  thee  through  ; 
How  many  feel  a  biting  smart, 

Then,  all  forgotten,  sin  anew. 
Thy  sin  and  mine  are  washed  away  ; 
Our  crime, — it  was  our  natal  day. 


Ah,  lower  him,  daughters,  to  the  cave, 

A  man  beloved  of  me  and  God  ; 
And  when  I  die  let  the  same  grave 

Cover  my  body  with  its  sod. 
Tis  right,  'tis  holy  now  to  love, — 

Joined  to  the  soul  that  rests  above." 

So  spake  the  Abbess  in  midlife, — 

The  penitent  who  laid  no  blame 
Upon  the  author  of  her  shame, 

But  loved  him,  the  unwedded  wife, 
Even  in  the  convent,  with  a  flame 

That  rose  to  heaven,  though  built  on  flesh, 

Still  burning  from  her  heart  afresh. 

Through  twenty  years  the  widowed  one 

Poured  forth  her  prayers  for  that  dear  soul ; 

Then,  with  her  heart  all  calm  and  whole, 
In  holy  quiet  Heloise  died 
And  lay  close  by  Abaelard's  side. 


Ci 


DISAPPOINTED    HOPES. 

A.  Seest  thou   the    land,   where  all   our    hopes   are 

placed  ? 

Seest  thou  its  mountains  rising  o'er  the  waste  ? 
Mark  how  the  wave  puts  on  a  lighter  hue; 
The  air  is  mild,  and  fraught  with  fragrance  new. 
Knowest  thou  that  point,  that  forms  our  bay  so 

still, 

And  that  white  village  just  below  the  hill? 
Thither,  O  !   thither  gladly  would  I  fly 
Like  yon  small  bird  that  tells  us  land  is  nigh. 

B,  I  saw  it  while  thou  spakest,  but  mine  eye 
Is  dim,  or  mist  hath  overspread  the  sky. 
And  yet  again  I  see  it :  O  !  how  blest 

So  soon  to  be  of  all  we  love  possessed. 
But  mark  that  cloud  that  flies  upon  the  blast, 
Grows  black  and  thunders  and  approaches  fast, 
The  crew  are  up  the  sails  to  reef  or  lower : 
'Tis  but  a  land-shower  quickly  passing  o'er. 


62 


A.  See  how  it  comes  !   no  sail  can  stand  its  force  : 
The  ship  nor  hears  the  helm  nor  keeps  its  course. 
Hark,  hark!    the  mainmast  cracks  and  falls;  at 

most 

Tis  but  a  chance  that  we  may  not  be  lost. 
Tis  cut  away  !     No,  no  !     It  hangs:  again 
To  hope  to  loose  it   mid  the  storm  is  vain. 
See,  see  !    There  comes  a  blacker  squall.     All's 

o'er. 
Ah  rne !   to  die  so  near  my  native  shore. 

B.  Seize,  seize  the  boat!     A.  'Tis  washed  away. 

B.     Best  friend, 
I  sink.     Farewell.     A.    We  part  not  till  the  end. 


THE    LOST    VESSEL. 

The  days  move  slowly  on,  for  they  ere  long, — 

The  sister  she,  and  she  the  fair  betrothed — 

Expect  his  lov'd  return.     A  ship  they  spy 

White  in  the  evening  sun,  with  sails  all  set 

And  waving  streamers,  entering  the  bay 

Whose  waters  fear  no  tempest,  and  whose  face 

Sleeps  tranquil  now  beneath  the  laughing  sky. 

For  them  the  morning  dawns  with  early  light, 

Awakened  by  fond  hopes  ;  but  on  the  shore 

Another  crew  and  other's  lov'd  ones  land. 

These  had  outrun  his  vessel  on  the  deep, 

And  soon  encountering  storms  and  adverse  gales, 

But  just  outlived  the  perils  of  the  way. 

The  days  pass  by,  and  fear,  now  ill  concealed, 

Prompts  many  a  thought  which  hope  as  soon  repels, 

And  cooler  friends  call  maiden's  love-sick  dreams. 

The  days  pass  by  ;  and  counted  as  they  go 

\Vake  many  a  secret  tear  and  open  sigh 

And  look  of  stifled  sorrow,  that  betrays 

The  darkness  of  the  caverns  of  the  soul. 

64 


The  days  pass  by  how  swiftly  f  and  how  sad 

Their  fast  increasing  number  swells  to  twice 

And  thrice  the  longest  voyage :  from  that  same  port 

Sails  joyful  many  a  crew,  and  many  a  heart 

Leaps  towards  its  long  lost  friend  :  no  tidings  come 

Of  your  beloved.     No  longer  need  ye  now 

Bend  down  your  heads  to  hide  the  bitter  tear, 

For  they,  who  blamed  your  love's  too  fond  alarms, 

Are  clad  in  robes  of  mourning;  but  their  hearts 

Feel  not  those  agonies  of  deepest  love 

Which  fill  your  waking  hours  and  fill  your  nights 

With  images  most  cruel :  all  save  one 

Believe  that  he  is  lost :  with  constancy 

Of  hopes  not  built  on  argument,  and  oft 

Demolished  by  her  weakened  reason's  powers, 

But  by  the  wand  of  love  built  up  anew, 

Still  she  distrusts  all  tales  :  "  Perchance  he  lives 

On  some  bleak  rock,  or  on  some  barbarous  shore. 


Perchance  the  crew  with  mutinous  resolve 

For  other  climes  the  canvas  spread,  and  he 

Is  waiting  for  a  late  and  blest  return." 

Alas  the  winds  and  waves  and  fickle  crew, 

Seafaring  men's  conjectures,  news  from  sea 

Of  ships  that  founder  on  the  billowy  main — 

All — may  be  false;  but  thou  canst  know  no  change. 

For  as  a  bride  keeps  firm  her  marriage  vow 

Until  her  lord  return,  who  weeks  or  days 

Is  absent,  so  thy  plighted  faith  is  kept 

As  for  the  living;  then  may'st  thou  live  with  him 

Beyond  the  reach  of  tempests,  safe  in  heaven. 

1826 


66 


I  knew  a  man,  who  once  in  early  youth 

Shone  with  the  beams  of  honor,  love  and  truth. 

Wild  nature  was  his  bosom  friend,  and  he 

With  woods  and  streams  kept  heartfelt  company. 

As  years  around  him  gathered,  in  the  pride 

Of  conscious  strength  his  mind  the  world  surveyed 
And  dazzled  by  the  sight  for  power  he  sighed, 

And  all  that  were  his  friends  before  betrayed. 
He  sought  that  path  most  false  where  to  appear 
And  not  to  be  is  prized ;  he  plied  the  ear 
Of  knaves  in  office  with  his  specious  lies, 
And  voting  fools  he  duped  by  promises. 
He  rose  :  What  could  he  less;  for  had  he  stood 

Amid  that  quiet  deep-discerning  band, 
Who  fear  their  God,  and  love  their  country's  good, 

Equals  had  met  his  eye  on  every  hand. 


But  causes  that  are  gained  by  vulgar  arts 
Are  the  best  hot-beds  for  a  man  of  parts : 
There  nourished  by  the  muck,  his  growth  is  fast 
Nor  rivals  on  his  path  their  shadows  cast. 
But  is  his  soul, — that  crystal  spring — the  same, 

Which  friends  believed  perpetual  ?     Nay,  'tis  dry  : 
Honor  to  him  is  now  an  empty  name, — 

Except  its  form  and  fame  nonentity. 
Of  love  he  talks,  but  practices  it  not, 
By  foul  expedients  all  things  can  be  got. 
But  most  his  hardened  soul  in  this  is  changed: 
Nature  and  he  once  friends  are  now  estranged. 
He  cannot  bear  the  field,  the  hill,  the  stream ; 

He  cannot  walk  amid  wild  woods  alone, 
For  fierce  reproaches  start  him  from  his  dream 

Of  worldliness,  and  cry  that  he's  undone. 


He  cannot  bear  to  know  that  what  he  lost 
Was  innocence,  was  inward  blessedness, 
That  what  he  bargained  for  at  such  a  cost 

Is  a  vile  harlot  in  a  spangled  dress. 
Well !  let  him  join  the  crew  where  votes  are  sold, 
Accept  the  office,  pay  and  take  the  gold, 
Avoid  all  honest  men,  mid  knaves  be  bold  : 
We  cast  him  off  from  us  with  tears  and  say 
Woe  to  his  soul  !  he  flung  truth's  crown  away, 
Deserted  nature,  falsehood's  laws  t'  obey  : 
Soon  must  his  soul  be  deadened,  or  must  burn 
With  shame  for  paths  on  which  few  e'er  return. 


69 


I  stood,  methought,  fast  by  heaven's  outer  gate, 
When  Plato,  blindfold,  humbly  to  the  door 
Came  with  weak  steps,  if  he  might  venture  o'er 

The  threshold  doubting,  or  without  must  wait. 

When  he,  who  in  the  Master's  bosom  lay, 
And  saw  the  mysteries  nearest  to  the  throne, 
Drew  nigh,  and  led  the  mild  enthusiast  on 

Up  to  th'  Eternal  Word,  Heaven's  fount  of  day. 

"There,"  said  th'  Apostle  to  the  kindred  mind, 

"  Dwells  truth,  whose  shadows  thou  wast  fain  to 
trace  ; 

There  beauty,  which  thy  dreams  wandered  to  find; 
There  love,   which  swells  beyond   the    soul's  em 
brace." 

Then  loosed  the  bandage,  and  the  sage,  no  more 
A  sage  but  saint,  beheld  and  knelt  to  adore. 

*  "  Plato,  who  alone  of  all  the  Greeks  touched   the  porch  of 
truth." — Euseb.prap.  evangel.,  xiii,  14. 


70 


EROS,    A    PLATONIC    MYTH. 

A  strain  was  handed  down  from  earliest  times, 

Repeated  o'er  the  East,  when  earth  was  young, 

By  sacred  poets,  but  well  nigh  forgot 

Amid  the  strifes  of  warring  tribes  : — the  strain 

Was  caught  by  gentle  minstrel,  rude  in  verse 

But  ripe  in  goodness.     Where  he  lived  or  when 

I  know  not.     Ruder  yet,  I  lifted  up 

The  lamp,  next  in  the  course,  and  bade  it  shine. 

Therefore  ye  gentle-hearted  hear  my  song, — 

True,  'neath  its  veil,  for  truth  its  veil  removed. 

Past  was  that  age  Saturnian,  only  known 
To  song,  ere  history's  duller  tales  began, 
When  earth  gave  more  than  fruit  enough  to  all, 
When  every  field  was  free  and  every  wood. 
The  world  had  grown  diseased;  a  fever  wild 


Of  lusts  raged  fearfully;  a  youthful  race 

In  all  its  earliest  strength,  without  a  guide, 

Most  like  a  stripling  giant,  with  a  will 

Ripened  but  reason  crude,  plunged  wildly  on, 

Whatever  path  allured,  and  madly  warred 

With  heaven  and  with  each  other;  whence  arose 

Fables  of  Titans  that  with  mighty  hands 

Piled  mountains  to  the  skies.     From  bad  they  fell 

To  worse,  until,  when  arts  began  to  bloom, 

And  states  arose,  and  science  tried  its  wings, 

A  generation  flourished  of  such  wild 

And  godless  sinners.,  that  'twas  marvellous 

Heaven  could  its  eye  keep  open,  and  not  dash 

Mankind,  its  masterpiece,  upon  the  ground, 

To  mould  new  vessels  of  superior  clay. 

For  human  love  had  fled,  and  human  shame: 

They  led  the  blind  astray,  and  starved  the  poor, 

And  mocked  the  stranger's  cry,  nor  knew  remorse, 

When  morn  beheld  him  stiffened  on  the  snow. 

They  plucked  the  old  man's  staff  away,  and  shouts 

Rang  loud,  when  with  the  dust  his  hoary  hairs 

72 


Were  levelled,  and  his  face  with  blood  defiled  ; 
Whereat,  in  fiendish  scorn  he  curst  the  young, 
Wishing  them  wretched  eld,  and,  if  a  race 
Should  flourish  from  their  loins,  that  parricide 
Might  snatch  their  food  away  and  speed  their  graves. 
All  purer  thoughts  were  gone;  the  mother  knew 
No  sire  for  her  ill  gotten  son  ;    the  son 
Roved  thoughtless  of  the  wanton  whence  he  sprang, 
And  cursed  her  name.    Twas  nothing  thought  of  then 
To  kill  the  infant  offspring, — not  to  hide 
The  evidence  of  shame  where  shame  was  none, 
But  lest  the  child  should  clog  the  ready  way 
To  some  new  lover's  board.     Nor  were  the  feuds 
Of  fiendish  hate  less  rife,  and  fell  revenge. 
The  murderer  roved  unharmed,  no  dogs  of  law 
Close  following  at  his  heels  with  hue  and  cry, 
Nor  dread  avenger,  swift  to  give  again 
The  stroke  that  felled  a  brother  to  the  ground: 
Or  fearful  of  revenge,  he  sought  the  wilds 
Familiar  with  his  dagger,  like  a  wolf 
Startled  by  every  sound  but  keen  for  blood. 
73 


Truth  in  their  streets  had  fallen,  their  sages  hoar, 
The  mantled  doctors  of  their  honored  schools, 
On  wide  experience  building,  and  on  sense 
Common,  and  consciousness  peculiar  too, 
Held  nature's  end  to  be  to  seek  her  own, 
And  man  in  natural  strife  engaged  with  man  : 
They  taught  and  had  no  heretics  to  burn. 
Down  had  the  altars  fallen,  and  sacred  groves 
On  mountains  nearest  to  the  sky,  where  once 
A  simple  race,  in  solemn  trains  and  choirs, 
By  symbols  aided,  earliest  lore  of  man, 
Drew  near  the  face  of  God,  and  told  their  sins. 
The  temples  felt  the  sacrilegious  fire : 
The  God  of  heaven,  the  holy  and  the  just, 
Long  had  given  place  to  lustful  powers,  malign 
And  fond  of  blood,  who  yielded  in  their  turn, 
As  doubt  prevailed,  to  misty,  dreadful  shapes, 
Such  as  send  dreams  of  ill,  and  gnaw  the  mind 
With  thoughts  of  bale,  and  end  a  laugh  in  tears, — 
Remorse  embodied,  fear  of  woe  to  come 
Grown  to  a  God,  unchanging,  deathless  forms, 

74 


Unworshiped,  save  with  curses  in  the  room 

Of  prayers,  and  incense  black  of  desperate  groans. 

Only  when  harm  was  imminent,  and  loud 

The  wrathful  thunder,  then  they  vowed  to  sate 

The  fearful  power  with  blood  of  slaughtered  men, 

Perchance  to  burn  their  children  to  his  name. 

But  here  I  furl  my  sails,  I  will  not  sing 
(Thus  the  old  bard  who  kept  the  older  tale,) 
Of  feuds  most  horrible,  where  murdered  men, 
Unburied,  fed  the  kites  ;    of  hearth-stones  marked 
With  stain  of  gore,  yet  visible  when  all 
Around  was  ruin,  and  the  briars  had  grown 
Rank  over  cellar  and  o'er  fallen  wall. 
Of  this  and  more,  too  horrible  for  man 
To  frame  a  thought  of,  mingled  lust  and  hate, 
Malicious  fraud  as  sleepless  as  the  sea, 
And  steady  as  the  earth  upon  its  course, — 
Of  this  I  may  not  tell ;  for  peace  belongs 
To  such  as  me,  to  sit  beside  a  stream 
Of  gentlest  flow,  half  sleeping,  half  awake, 
And  watch  the  clouds  or  hear  the  distant  pipe. 

75 


Such  toils  for  me  are  fitting,  all  inapt 

To  explore  the  maladies  of  souls  divorced 

From  love  of  human  kind  and  faith  in  heaven. 

While  xruin  thus  grew  rank,  and  hideous  crime 
Struck  far  and  wide  its  roots,  a  single  pair, 
Escaping  from  the  sights  and  sounds  of  wrong, 
Did  build  their  dwelling  in  a  lonely  waste — 
A  goodly  spot  once  peopled,  near  a  lake 
Whose  margent  wide  was  girt  around  with  hills 
Cloud-piercing,  whence  a  hundred  torrents  poured 
And  fed  the  mere.     There  in  the  olden  times 
Floated  innumerous  ships  with  costly  freights, 
Borne  from  the  sea  in  channel  smooth  and  broad; 
There  too  proud  cities  revelled,  fallen  now 
Silent  and  empty — such  the  fruit  of  sin. 
Here  found  this  virtuous  pair  the  first  relief 
From  that  heart-sickness  which  Titanian  crime 
And  fearful  hate  had  fastened  on  their  souls, 
But  found  not  here,  nor,  as  they  weigh'd  the  earth, 
Thought  to  find  ease  and  rest.     From  day  to  day 
The  forest  fell,  and  need  was  of  long  war 

76 


With  nature's  wildness.     Oft  it  seemed  that  they, 
Alone  of  all,  must  suffer,  though  alone 
God's  faithful  servants.     But  their  sorrows  rose 
Highest,  what  time  the  lifted  hand  of  heaven 
Smote  at  parental  love.     Their  faithful  bed 
Was  blest,  and  many  a  loud  and  happy  voice 
Sounded  around  their  board,  of  daughters  fair 
And  sons  in  virtue  trained  and  honest  toil. 
But  each,  when  now  full  grown,  when   reason's  tide 
Was  highest,  in  beauty's  brightness,  in  the  wealth 
Of  feeling,  when  the  clusters  of  most  hopes 
Hung  on  their  names, — each  strangely  drooped  away, 
Wilted  and  died  by  hidden  malady; 
As  if  a  venomous  curse  had  lodged  its  sting 
Within  the  race,  or  such  a  wicked  earth 
Were  pestilent  to  goodness.     All  expired  : 
All,  all  were  buried  by  their  parents'  hands; 
Whose  hearts  were  rent  but  meekly  still,  whene'er 
The  pillar  of  the  cloud  that  led  their  way 
Turned  on  them  its  dark  side,  more  black  than  death. 
So  on  they  lived  alone;  of  all  their  kind 
77 


Bereft,  in  patience  and  in  peace,  content 

To  bear  whatever  burdens  life  might  bring, 

Until  a  gentle  summons  from  the  sky 

Should  call  them  on  their  way — they  hoped  together — 

Girded  and  ready.     But  oh!  the  thoughts  of  man  — 

How  wide  they  fly,  when  wisest,  from  the  mark 

Of  Providence;  and^oft  our  wildest  dreams 

Are  prophecies,  our  judgments  light  as  smoke. 

Long  had  it  ceased  to  be  in  woman's  way 

With  that  old  dame,  and  hopes  were  all  burnt  out 

Of  offspring,  when  a  new  unwonted  weight 

To  press  upon  her  heart  began,  and  life 

Moved  'neath  her  zone  as  in  some  ancient  grave. 

Then  might  she  well  have  thrown  her  eyes  abroad 

Upon  the  grassy  tomb  of  virgins  fair 

And  many  a  son,  and  dreaded  birth  to  give, 

To  another  still  for  time  to  snatch  away. 

But  no  such  fears  disturbed  her,  hope  serene 

Sat  on  her  brow,  and  in  the  strange  event 

She  read  sure  token  that  the  smile  of  heaven, 

So  often  hid  in  frowning  thunder  clouds, 

78 


Would  make  her  sunset  glorious.   Months  went  round, 
And  oh  !  how  marvelous  !   without  a  throe, 
As  gently  as  the  buds  their  leaves  unfold, 
She  bore  a  wondrous  child,  unparagoned 
In  beauty,  with  a  countenance  heavenly  mild 
And  thought  set  deep  within  his  eye;  but  most 
The  wonder,  when  the  eager  dame  espied 
A  pair  of  wings,  that  down  the  infant's  sides, 
Feathered  for  brisk,  celestial  flight,  did  wave. 
'T  was  then  a  selfish  pang  of  bitter  fear, 
One  bubble  in  the  gush  of  wondrous  joy, 
Leapt  upward,  lest  some  creature  of  the  sky, 
Or  shape  angelic,  should  have  drawn  its  life 
From  her  in  human  semblance,  then  to  leave 
On  nimble  wing  its  earthly  home  and  sail 
Above  the  clouds,  of  her  regardless  quite. 
But  neither  envious  winds  her  treasure  stole, 
Nor  grave,  reared  up  'mid  monuments  of  woe, 
Guarded  it  ah!  too  well :  it  lived  and  throve; 
It  hung  upon  her  breast;  it  watched  her  eye 
Reviving  thoughts  of  buried  ones;  it  lisped 
79 


The  name  long  dead  of  mother;  on  his  knee 

The  sire  caressed  it,  and  its  tottering  feet 

Taught  how  to  move.     Love  sparkled  in  its  eye, 

Love  beamed  from  theirs,  and  Eros  was  its  name. 

So  on  they  lived,  rejoicing  in  the  child 

Whom  signs  of  wondrous  destiny  waited  on  ; 

And  when  they  died  a  death,  than  softest  fall 

Of  snow  upon  a  windless  day  more  soft, 

Their  bosoms  heaved  with  gladness,  as  they  blest 

Eros,  and,  though  his  lot  was  cast  alone, 

Knew  that  heaven's  cords  were  round  him,  and  his  path 

Piloted  by  a  bright  and  happy  star. 

But  not  of  joy,  e'er  yet  his  parents  died 

Was  he  all  woven,  for  amid  the  round 

Of  joyful  tasks  and  perfect  filial  love 

Strange  thoughts,  uncalled  for  sadness,  like  the  breath 

That  for  a  moment  clouds  the  polished  steel, 

Gathered  to  vanish — -but  not  vanish  quite: 

For  e'er  the  years  when  selfishness,  like  rust, 

Eats  on  the  vulgar  growth  of  men,  and  shames 

Their  brows  with  darkling  fear  and  thoughts  malign, 

80 


His  brow  was  beautifully  sad,  his  thought 

Had  ta'en  such  foretaste  of  the  time  to  come 

That  from  forebodings  sober  credence  grew 

Of  singular  distress,  at  which  the  will 

Of  heaven  should  land  him,  ripening  thereby 

Its  hidden  counsel,  which,  whate'er  it  were, 

Downward  did  look  toward  earth;  for  lo  !   the  wings, 

Just  used  as  yet  to  brush  above  the  fen, 

Or  skim  along  the  slope,  to  droop  began  : 

The  feathers  first  are  shed,  in  form  entire 

But  at  their  roots  unfed  by  moistening  oil ; 

Then  falls  the  penon-bone,  leaving  a  scar 

Where  with  the  shoulder  hinging,  it  had  drawn 

Its  aliment  from  a  frame  unearthly,  now 

An  earthly  burden  bearing.     Thus  his  hopes 

And  toils  to  earth  were  tied ;  and  soon  there  came 

In  visions  of  the  night,  when  the  soul's  eye 

Is  opened  widest,  whisperings  divine 

That  he  must  walk  abroad  among  his  kind, 

And  quit  that  desert  home  of  heavenly  thought. 

Not  there  his  task  was  set;  thenceforth  his  years 

81 


Must  face  the  wicked  eye  to  eye,  and  bear 

Perpetual  witness  for  the  ways  of  God. 

So  towards  a  world  more  wild  than  beasts  of  prey, 

He  bent  his  steps,  unripe,  without  a  guide 

Save  faith,  and  those  celestial  visitings 

That  cheered  his  nights  while  cares  besieged  the  day. 

And  who  can  tell  what  struggles  tossed  his  soul 

Ere  he  dared  sail  on  that  unsounded  sea? 

Who,  tell  what  shrinkings  from  the  lifelong  war, 

Foreseen,  with  hosts  of  sin  were  his;  what  choice 

Of  contemplative  rest  before  the  toils 

Of  action ;  what  desire  at  once  to  abridge 

By  some  huge  effort,  if  it  cost  his  life, 

The  weary  load  of  daily  fruitless  pains; 

What  flashes  of  sharp  fear,  lest  in  the  heat 

Of  trial,  like  some  lonely  sentinel, 

He  should  his  trust  betray;  what  heavy  sense 

Of  sins  o'ermastering  crowds,  in  strife  combined 

Against  his  single  arm ;  what  doubts,  well  nigh 

Crazing  his  brain,  of  what  might  be,  increased 

To  such  a  size  that  truth  in  mist  was  veiled, 

82 


And  he  seemed  steering  toward  a  land  of  dreams. 

But,  noble  heart,  cheer  up.     The  mystery 

Of  life  is  opening  now  before  thine  eye, 

That  in  a  world  of  sin  the  course  of  love 

Must  lie  through  sufferings;  that  the  gates  of  hope 

For  man  so  weak  and  low  must  be  unlocked 

By  virtue's  conflict  long  and  bloody  death. 

Nor  comes  the  triumph  'till  some  new  made  soil 

Be  gathered  of  fresh  hope  and  high  example, 

Whereon  the  plants  of  virtue  sown  by  heaven 

May  live  the  best  of  lives  that  earth  can  yield. 

Yes  !  noble  heart,  cheer  up  !     A  glorious  end 

Lies  near  thee,  and  as  thou  pursuest  thy  way, 

Be  sure  that  God  and  nature  take  thy  side. 

Heaven  gives  thee  streaks  of  sunlight,  nature  smiles 

In  loving  fellowship  and  calls  thee  on. 

So,  fear  and  doubt  o'ercome,  he  girt  himself 
In  faith  for  th'  untried  world,  for  haunts  of  men. 
Tis  said  the  beasts  were  conscious,  where  he  trod, 
Of  more  than  earthly  presence,  that  the  wild 
And  ravening  natures,  deadly  foes  to  man, 

83 


Leapt  round  his  steps,  or  crouched  and  humbly  whined, 

Licking  his  unsuspicious  hand:  a  song 

From  all  the  warblers  of  the  air  upflew 

Filling  the  woods,  but  birds  of  augury, 

Hoarse  fowl  that  fly  alone,  and  levy  war 

On  every  feebler  wing, — all  these  were  gone, 

Hid  in  lone  thickets,  mindless  of  their  prey. 

Twas  sung,  new  blossoms  sprang  beneath  his  feet, 

Glad  shapes  and  dyes,  the  signs  of  nature's  love 

For  one  so  lonely!  then,  't  was  told  of  yore, 

The  flower  hight  love-lies-bleeding  first  was  born, 

A  single  stalk  that  strewed  its  seeds  afar, 

In  token  that  the  seeds  of  bleeding  love 

Should  grow  and  fill  the  fields  towards  every  wind. 

But  when  his  steps  approached  the  halls  of  men 
And  trod  the  streets  of  busy  life,  no  eye 
Of  welcome  greeted  him,  no  word  of  peace 
Fell  soothing  on  his  ear,  no  brother's  heart 
Adopted  him,  or  gave  him  place  of  rest. 
He  tried  each  gentle  tone,  each  graceful  act, 
Such  as  pure  instinct  knows,  lending  to  these 

84 


The  sweetest  help  of  pity,  offering  those 
Oblations  of  respect,  and  mild  to  all, 
Nor  pride  with  pride  repaid  nor  scorn  with  scorn. 
But  nought  availed,  he  could  not  win  his  way ; 
Scowls  darted  at  him,  jests  pursued  his  feet, 
Ere  yet  his  lips  were  opened  and  his  words 
Bore  witness  clear  to  the  innocence  within. 
And  when  his  life  was  sounded,  'till  its  depths 
All  truth  and  love  revealed,  all  inner  stores 
Of  sanctity  beyond  the  shows  of  art ; 
When  nought  in  him  accorded  with  base  jests 
Or  merry  blasphemies,  but  sorrowing  eyes 
Told  how  he  shrunk  from  foulness,  how  the  guilt 
Of  that  base  people  touched  him  in  the  soul; 
Then  hate  began  to  stir,  each  word,  each  deed 
Took  a  distorted  shape  :  his  innocence 
Was  rustic  weakness  called  ;  his  truth  concealed 
A  deeper  art;  his  painted  purity 
Would  soon  rub  off  amid  the  ways  of  men  : 
He  was  no  nobler  metal  than  the  rest. 
But  as  the  days  wore  on,  and  showed  to  all 
85 


A  matchless,  artless  grace  of  life,  and  stamped 

All  that  he  spoke  with  seal  of  honest  deeds, 

Then  wonder,  laughter,  proud  contempt  gave  way 

To  fell  malignity  and  lowering  hate. 

You  would  have  thought  they  dreaded  him,  so  swift 

Were  they  to  escape  his  presence  ;  and  his  speech, 

If  hear  they  must,  kindled  their  souls  to  flame. 

Thus  was  he  most  alone  in  crowded  ways, 

By  frowning  eyes  and  angry  threats  pursued. 

Blest  was  the  respite,  if  in  bushy  wilds, 

Or  on  the  beach  by  starlight,  with  no  sound 

Of  cursing  or  wild  uproar  in  his  ear, 

Sweet  influence  he  might  gather  from  the  world 

And  God  its  sovereign,  resting  in  the  thought 

That  something  good  was  great,  and  that  wild  sea 

Of  restless  wrong  would  lay  its  waves  at  length, 

And  Earth  a  peace  behold  fairer  than  dreams. 

"A  day,  a  day;  will  quickly  be  to-morrow  " — 

So  cried  he  on  the  solitary  shore — 

"  And  the  long  rows  of  days  and  years  to  come 

Will  shrink  it  into  nothing.     Pain  is  pain 

86 


No  longer  when  it  takes  its  flight ;  it  lies 
Upon  the  surface  of  a  soul  that's  pure 
And  strikes  no  mortal  root  deep  down  within ; 
But  sorrows  borne  and  duties  humbly  rendered 
Will  bring  around  a  day  that  knows  no  grief." 

So  to  his  work  from  sight  of  friends  unseen 
Faithful  and  bold  returning,  Eros  preached 
Of  God,  from  morning  prime  till  weary  eve; 
Where'er  a  throng  could  gather,  through  the  roads 
Or  at  the  market  booths,  or  on  the  steps 
Of  festal  hall,  or  where  the  altar  smoked 
For  gods  obscene.     To  high  he  spake  and  low ; 
To  those  that  mocked  and  those  that  darkly  frowned, 
And  those  that  wrote  him  crazed;  but  if,  perchance, 
Some  soul  he  could  discover  not  advanced 
Through  all  the  grades  of  shame,  but  borne  along 
Passive  upon  the  swelling  tide  of  sin, 
There  hovered  he  the  longest  with  his  arts 
Of  love,  his  snares  of  truth,  readiest  to  save. 
But  few  or  none  gave  heed ;  nor  could  the  work 
Of  patient  months,  summed  up,  or  profit  past 

87 


Report,  or  carry  hope  to  coming  time. 

Twas  faith  alone  and  duty  propped  his  life, 

Else  it  had  fallen  a  ruin,  and  his  name 

Had  stood  among  the  crowd  of  faithless  ones 

By  men  forgot  or  scorned,  and  fallen  from  God. 

But  years  brought  boldness  with  them,  and  a  weight 

Of  sorrow  for  the  tragedy  of  souls 

Given  o'er  to  evil,  and,  with  stronger  trust, 

A  longing  for  the  sacrament  of  blood. 

So  grew  he  mighty,  now  no  more  a  jest, 

No  more  a  marvel,  but  a  dread  portent 

And  harbinger  of  woe,  God's  doomster,  who 

These  men  of  sin  condemned  and  read  their  fate. 

Loud  grew  his  oracles,  where  mingled  wrath 

And  love  confirmed  each  other, — wrath  the  voice 

Of  injured  righteousness,  love  close  behind, 

Waiting  to  save  when  fear  had  cleared  the  path. 

Oft  too,  by  love  inspired,  his  high  discourse 

Did  blossom  into  song;  and  beauteous  forms 

Of  thought  stood  near  him,  servants  of  the  soul, 

Imaginings  so  high,  that  whoso  heard, 

88 


Though  they  as  arrows  pierced,  was  forced  to  hear. 

Therefore  he  should  not  live — this  daring  youth 

Who  claimed  a  place  so  high,  flinging  rebukes 

Even  at  the  princes,  turning  sport  to  gall, 

Hater  of  merriment,  foe  of  mankind, 

Reviler  of  the  gods.     Had  not  their  sires 

Lived  as  they  would,  grown  gray  and  slept  in  peace, 

Whose  ways  this  stranger  blackened  ?     Such  as  he, 

Hating  their  fellows  would  divide  the  State. 

Need  was  of  vengeance  quick.     The  man  must  die. 

And  so  he  died  foreboding  all,  but  fixed 
Like  some  lone  sentinel  between  the  rocks, 
Who  fills  the  narrow  path,  forcing  the  throng 
Of  armed  foes  to  halt  'till  he  be  slain, 
But  saving  all  behind.     So  Eros  died. 
Against  his  life  they  forged  a  foul  report; 
And  advocates  for  pay,  who  plead  whate'er, 
Or  true  or  false  was  needed,  generous  now 
From  malice  as  the  servants  of  the  state, 
Threw  slanders  on  his  life,  conducting  down 

The  bolts  of  public  hate  upon  his  head. 

89 


But  justice  moves  too  tardy,  if  its  voice 
Must  wait  the  speediest  verdict,  if  his  word 
Of  bold  rebuke  shall  sound  through  judgment  halls, 
And  awe  to  righteousness  the  listening  throng. 
Therefore,  as  through  the  streets  he  took  his  way 
Upon  the  morn  of  trial,  men  of  blood 
Block  up  the  passage ;  fearful  shouts  arise ; 
A  blow  is  struck  behind  that  fells  him  down. 
They  drag  him  in  the  dust;  those  eyes  of  love 
That  brow  serene,  those  uncomplaining  lips, 
Those  locks  of  youthful  beauty,  that  had  drawn 
Compassion  from  a  tiger,  all  defiled, 
Begrimed  and  bloodstained,  lose  similitude 
To  humankind;  he  lies  a  naked  corse 
Upon  a  dunghill  for  the  dogs  to  tear. 
So  Eros  died.     The  sun  as  brightly  shone, 
The  voice  of  revelry  rose  up  as  loud, 
Earth's  flowers  still  decked  her  breast  though  Eros 
So  Eros  died;  but  as  the  earth  looked  on         [died. 
And  saw  that  her  own  soul  outlived  the  shock, 

A  hope  began  to  dawn  that  he  might  be 

90 


Immortal  also,  and  might  live  again, 
As  the  fair  flowers  that  die  upon  her  breast. 
That  hope  spake  true;  for  by  the  hidden  laws, 
Born  in  the  sky,  that  flashed  upon  his  birth, 
No  human  steel  could  part  his  soul  from  sense, 
Such  was  its  lov^e  of  fellowship  and  life. 
And  still  another  law  from  highest  heaven 
Descended,  where  it  saw  the  throne  of  God, 
That  if  he  died  for  men,  torn  by  their  rage, 
Each  separate  part  an  Eros  then  should  be, 
Both  multiform  and  one.     That  was  a  law 
That  would  have  silenced  half  of  nature's  groans, 
To  all  unknown  but  God  ;  for  until  then 
Evil  had  seemed  immortal,  and  when  slain 
Straight  rose  with  brisker  life,  and  multiplied 
By  every  blow  that  felled  it  down ;  but  good 
Had  ever  languished,  of  its  own  dim  light 
Not  sure,  and  burning  faintlier  as  it  burned. 
But  that  it  had  the  power  to  spread  itself, 
That,  by  a  fatal  mystery  of  heaven, 
With  sin's  own  weapon,  Pain,  the  life  of  sin 
91 


It  could  destroy,  then  break  the  spear  in  two,— 
Oh!  this  had  not  been  dreamed;  philosophy 
Had  died  without  the  thought  in  blank  despair. 

But  though  earth's  eye  was  blind,  angelic  powers 
Guarding  their  bastions  'gainst  the  hosts  of  sin 
Beheld  with  tears  of  joy  how  Eros  died, 
For  half  they  guessed  the  sequel.     From  themselves 
They  knew  love's  living  strength,  and  knew  that  God 
No  seeds  of  goodness,  ripening  in  the  sun, 
Would  spend  for  nought.     And  so  from  trust  in  him 
They  augured  true  of  what  no  oracles 
Divine  had  uttered.     Breathless  they  behold 
How,  after  loss  of  sense  and  swift  decay, 
Made  glorious  by  suffering,  Eros  rose, 
One  soul  in  several  bodies,  conquering  thus 
The  chains  that  tie  us  in  a  narrow  house 
Of  heavy  earth,  and  wandering  far  abroad, 
Where'er  the  honied  flowers  of  promise  grew 
For  him  to  light  upon.     But  first  he  appeared 
Afar  from  that  vile  nation,  where  he  died. 

They  were  beyond  experiment,  given  o'er 

92 


To  mutual  slaughter  and  the  slow  decay 
Of  cureless  lust,  until  their  fields 
Had  grown  a  desert  undefiled  by  men. 
Thus  did  the  soil,  for  some  more  vigorous  race 
Slumber  in  Sabbath  stillness,  till  it  lost, 
The  memory  of  that  age;  but  fables  lived 
Of  giants,  who  the  power  of  heaven  defied, 
And  perished  by  lanced  thunder-bolts  and  fire. 
They  too,  who  afterward  those  forests  felled 
And  plowed  those  fields,  or  heard  or  seemed  to  hear 
Groans  in  the  air  and  shrieks;  wood  demons  too 
Of  loathly  forms,  malicious,  in  the  dales 
Did  haunt,  half-man  half-goat  with  lion's  mane, 
Lustful  and  cannibal :  the  simple  folk 
Of  better  times  that  came  did  deem  the  souls 
Of  wild  transgressors  in  such  shapes  were  caged, 
And  feared  by  night  in  mountain  dells  to  roam, 
Save  with  armed  guards  of  doughty  champions. 
Such  was  this  people's  fate;  but  Eros,  far 
From  where  he  fell,  like  some  winged  butterfly, 
Wandered  to  barbarous  coasts,  but  wheresoe'er 
93 


He  wandered,  brands  of  sin  on  earth  and  man 
Aroused  his  pity;  Earth  was  scarred  and  old; 
Her  plants  were  noxious  weeds;  base  reptiles  crawled 
With  hissing  fire,  and  eyes  of  flame  abroad. 
Marish  and  fen,  lengthening  their  ancient  bounds, 
Devoured  the  meadow  land,  and  seeds  of  plague 
Flew  forth  on  every  wind.     The  running  floods 
Had  strown  the  vales  with  stones,  or  stagnant  slept 
Where  once  rank  herbage  nodded.     O'er  the  hills 
Wild  woods  impervious  stretched,  and  beasts  of  prey, 
Now  lords  of  earth,  in  fearless  freedom  stalked, 
By  night  and  day  alike  thoughtless  of  man. 
The  tribes  of  men,  by  pathless  wastes  divorced, 
Dwelling  in  islands  banished  from  the  world, 
Grew  wild  ;  and  every  stranger  was  a  foe. 
Oh  !  what  a  world  for  Eros  still  to  love, 
Still  to  brood  piteous  o'er;    when,  winged  again, 
'T  was  free  for  him  to  haunt  the  upper  sky, 
And  rest  within  th'  immortal  palace  there. 
But  rest  from  toil  he  sought  not ;  his  reward 
Lay  in  that  marvelous  gift  of  heavenly  powers 

94 


That  his  own  soul  could  use  the  ministry 
Of  bodies  manifold.     Thus  multiplied 
He  climbed  the  mountain  ridge  and  pierced  the  vale. 
Armed  with  love-glancing  eyes  and  lips  of  peace. 
He  taught  them  arts;  he  melted  into  one 
Their  jarring  brotherhoods,  until  their  league 
Stretched  over  hills  and  into  plains  afar. 
T  was  then  that  music's  heavenly  voice  again 
After  long  silence  woke,  and  waked  the  sense 
Of  slumbering  beauty  by  the  close  accord 
Of  strings  and  human  voice,  best  instrument. 
'T  was  he  that  taught  them  all  the  harmonies 
Of  starry  movements,  and  the  wondrous  laws 
Whereby  the  strife  of  elements,  at  last, 
In  glad  consent,  like  some  loud-sounding  hymn, 
Closes  and  calms  the  soul  for  voiceless  praise, 
He  built  the  fabric  of  their  polities 
On  human  brotherhood,  and  the  holy  league 
Of  kindred  tribes  enforced  by  rites  Divine. 
Nor  least,  the  soul,  from  harmony  with  heaven 
Severed,  he  guided  back,  to  see  God's  face, 
95 


Long  hidden  while  foul  demons  held  the  throne. 
The  reign  of  hatred — so  he  taught — had  borne, 
Fruit  deadly  long  enough,  'till  in  man's  breast 
The  sense  of  beauty,  and  of  holiness 
Divine,  was  nigh  extinguished.     But  that  time 
Was  ended,  lest  the  race  of  man  should  die. 
Now  God  revealed  himself  anew,  and  shone 
On  men  in  love  and  pity,  swift  to  hear 
Their  penitent  groans,  and  slow  to  give  them  up 
To  justice  and  themselves.     So  Eros  preached. 
If  heard,  a  chosen  few  in  solemn  league 
Gathering  to  be  a  fountain  of  new  life 
For  better  times;  but  if  repelled  with  scorn 
And  slain  by  hands  malicious,  in  new  forms 
Returning,  till  a  troop,  in  spirit  one, 
Of  bodies  wherein  Eros  dwelt  enthroned, 
Long-suffering  and  indestructible, 
Wore  evil  out,  and  forced  it  to  confess 
That  goodness  cannot  die.     But  evil  fled, 
Presaging  speedy  doom,  to  caves  and  wilds; 

While  swarming  hamlets,  rich  with  waving  fields 

96 


Gathered  around  the  throne  of  Godlike  law 
In  wide-spread  peace.     Earth  felt  the  change  at  heart, 
And  gave  a  thousand  signs  of  sympathy 
With  conquering  Eros  :  now  she  ceased  to  heave 
And  quake  in  dread  convulsions;  creeping  pest 
Forbore  to  attack  a  race  reformed ;  the  gales 
From  sea  or  mountain  on  their  wings  bore  health; 
Nor  mildew  crept  o'er  fields  redeemed  from  sin. 
Forthwith,  'tis  sung,  another  race  of  flowers 
New  born,  or  sprung  of  slumbering  seeds  that  lay 
Locked  in  the  soil  through  all  those  years  of  crime, 
Vermeil'd  the  mead,  and  o'er  the  rivulet's  flow 
Nodded  their  stainless  bells:  the  lurid  weed 
And  tangled  briar  with  swart  and  poisonous  fruit 
Yielded  to  earth's  first  daughters,  to  the  pure 
And  bright-eyed  plants  that  bloomed  in  Saturn's  reign, 
The  beasts,  that  once  prowled  dreadless,  near  the  haunt, 
Of  men,  whilst  mutual  hatred  ruled  the  world, 
Fled  to  the  thick,  whence  still  by  fear  pursued 
They  harbour  nigh  the  swamp,  or  in  the  cave 
Of  mountain  forest  shelter,  conscious  still 
97 


That  man  is  sovereign,  when  they  hear  his  tread 
Among  the  rocks,  or  when  the  woodman's  axe 
Below  sends  tidings  of  him  through  the  hills. 

Thus  earth  grew  young  again,  and  man  was  blest, 
Nor  ceased  he  through  long  ages  to  exalt 
Celestial  Eros,  from  whose  frequent  deaths 
Had  risen  a  better  life.     But  cycles  came 
When  sinister  conjunctions  in  the  heavens, 
And  baleful  comets,  did  an  end  foretell 
Of  bliss  for  earth  too  weighty.     Then  the  form 
Eat  out  the  spirit,  symbols  buried  truth, 
Rites  heathenish  invaded  sacred  fanes, 
All  things  relapsed,  treading  the  smoother  path 
Crooked  and  downward,  'till  the  hand  of  Love 
Grew  weary,  and  the  heavenly  powers  recalled 
The  wanderer  from  the  skies  who  died  for  man. 
All  this  th'  oblivious  world  forgot,  and  dreamed 
Of  Eros  nought;  but  some  faint  streaks  were  spread, 
Like  sunbeams  piercing  clouds,  through  eastern  lands. 
The  poets  caught  the  glimpses,  in  their  hymns 

Uranian  Venus  lauding  and  her  son, 

98 


The  good  Cupido,  not  that  wanton  child, 
But  heavenly  Eros  clothed  in  earthly  form. 
To  him  was  Psyche  married,  from  the  dross 
Of  vulgar  loves  divorced,  a  perfect  birth 
Shaped  with  all  nature's  care,  in  whom  there  dwelt 
Some  faint  remembrance  of  the  things  on  high. 
And  this  his  spouse,  Psyche  the  beautiful, 
Was  dearer  to  him  than  Olympus'  top ; 
Whence  self-exiled  he  trod  the  lower  plains 
For  Psyche's  company,  her  nightly  Lord, 
Unseen  celestial  one:  the  happier  she, 
If,  trusting  in  his  love  and  to  his  will 
Answering,  she  had  driven  blind  desire  away, 
Nor  fed  her  eyes  on  manna  for  the  soul. 
But  wrong  was  wrong,  nor  could  be  wiped  away  : 
So  wrath  celestial  doomed  her  to  conflict 
With  toils  where  Hercules  himself  had  fallen. 
She  wandered  lonely,  but  not  quite  alone; 
For  on  the  edge  of  danger,  when  the  cup 
Of  fear  was  brimming,  then  her  husband  God, 
Alighting  from  the  skies  in  altered  form, 
99 


His  righteous  wrath  forgotten,  bore  her  toils, 

Wedded  again  amid  her  heaviest  woes. 

Till  when  heaven's  just  decree  had  reached  its  end, 

And  she  by  trials  sharp  had  paid  her  debt 

Due  to  the  majesty  of  law  divine, 

The  path  was  free  for  her,  and  barred  no  more — 

Not  to  the  glitterand  house,  where  all  was  cold 

Till  night  restored  th'  unseen  one  to  her  arms, 

But — to  his  proper  dwelling  place,  where  light 

Garlands  his  brow,  and  she  fast  by  his  side 

Eyeing  his  form  divine,  fears  no  divorce 

Nor  trial  longer,  though  she  feed  her  sight 

Upon  his  face  forever;  for  her  home 

Is  here  and  heavenly  Eros  with  her  dwells. 

NOTE. — In  Apuleius  it  is  not  Cupido  who  assists  Psyche  in  the 
toils  imposed  by  Venus — although  Venus  is  represented  as  sus 
pecting  him  of  it — but  objects  in  nature  which  were  friendly  to 
him.  That  author  also  makes  the  vulgar  Venus  and  Cupido  the 
actors  in  the  beautiful  allegory. 


100 


THE  POET'S  ISLAND,  A  VISION.* 

A  gentle  wind  was  blowing  off  the  shore; 

The  little  boat  lay  floating  near  the  land. 
The  boatman,  as  he  raised  and  trimmed  his  oar, 

Cried  come  away,  the  parting  hour's  at  hand. 
I  looked  toward  my  native  soil  once  more 

And  pressed  one  tearful  kiss  upon  the  strand, 
A  moment,  and  we  gained  the  ship  that  lay 
Under  the  cliffs,  riding  within  the  bay. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  evening's  brightest  star 

Gleamed  o'er  the  ripples,  e'er  we  reached  the  sail. 

The  lofty  side  we  climb,  and  soon  afar 

We  leave  the  land,  sped  by  the  western  gale  ; 

Till  by  the  rocking  and  the  angry  jar 
Of  sailors'  voices  tired,  my  spirits  fail : 

T  was  hard,  I  felt,  to  break  the  chain  of  home, 

Nor  knew  I  where  my  lot  was  cast  to  roam. 

*  This  piece,  long  ago  begun  and  laid  aside,  was  ended  after 
1871  on  another  plan,  and  as  the  reader  will  perceive,  is  but  a 
fragment. 

101 


The  night  was  fairest  daughter  of  the  year ; 

A  breeze  so  silent  and  so  steady  blew, 
That  sound  of  flapping  rope  or  sail  to  hear 

Was  hard,  and  yet  the  ship  like  eagles  flew. 
The  moon  was  mounting  upward,  now  all  clear 

Of  clouds  and  now  her  mantle  round  she  drew. 
So  soft  the  peace  that  thoughts  diseased  might  find 
Their  medicine  there  and  vanish  from  the  mind. 

And  oft  a  star,  amid  the  clouds,  awhile 

Imprisoned  seemed  to  float,  then  sink  again, 

Then  risen  as  from  its  grave  anew  to  smile, 
And  launch  abroad  upon  the  airy  main. 

And  oft  the  clouds  in  many  a  mountainous  pile 
Gathered  and  darkly  frowned,  prophets  of  rain  ; 

Then  all  at  once  they  broke  and  took  their  flight, 

As  loth  to  hide  the  face  of  that  fair  night. 


102 


Such  forms  on  high  or  sent  from  every  wave 
Held  me  long  time,  nor  could  I  bid  farewell ; 

But  nature  fails  at  last,  forced  rest  to  crave 

Even  from  the  sight  of  friends  she  loves  so  well. 

My  wearied  body  to  the  couch  I  gave, 

And  o'er  my  senses  soon  light  slumber  fell. 

Yet  still  I  heard  the  vessel's  steady  glide 

And  heard  the  dash  of  waves  upon  the  side. 

Long  so  I  slept :  it  seemed  as  if  the  way 

From  home  might  half  be  measured  o'er  the  deep, 

Whilst  yet  entranced  in  dreamy  sleep  I  lay, 

And  still  the  ship  seemed  on  its  course  to  keep. 

Now  broke  the  eastern  light,  now  rose  the  day, 
Before  I  scattered  that  soft  cloud  of  sleep. 

I  woke  and — wonder  strange — the  crew  was  gone, 

And  I  was  left  to  take  my  path  alone. 


103 


Awestruck  awhile  I  stood,  but  as  I  saw 

How  steady  was  the  breeze,  the  sails  how  straught, 
"  What  ship  is  this,"  I  cried,  "that  knows  no  awe 

Of  helm  or  pilot,  and  with  instinct  fraught, 
Steering  its  path  unreined,  or  to  the  law 

Obedient  of  some  spirit's  whispering  thought. 
What  yestern  seemed  its  crew — no  earthly  forms — 
Guided  its  path  for  no  insidious  storms." 

"  Perhaps  a  mortal's  word  can  reach  its  ear, 
Or  airy  shapes  stand  nigh  its  wish  to  obey. 

Then  turn  thee  on  thy  course,  good  ship,  and  here 
Show  that  thou  markest  what  thy  voyagers  say." 

It  turned,  but  dropped  its  sails,  an  argument  clear 
That  it  was  loth  to  leave  th'  appointed  way  : 

By  this  I  knew  that  Heaven  the  voyage  bade, 

And  gathering  heart  with  cheerful  voice  I  said  : 


104 


"  Since  Heaven,  good  ship  hath  willed  it  should  be  so, 
Turn  thee  again  whe'er  thy  course  was  bent ; 

God  and  good  angels  call  fair  winds  to  blow, 
No  wave  the  deck  o'erflow  nor  sail  be  rent. 

Whether  the  shores  feel  the  sun's  hottest  glow 
To  which  thou  runnest,  or  with  snow  be  sprent, 

I  know  that  he  who  sends  me  is  on  high 

Nor  would  I  choose,  self-willed,  some  other  sky." 

Three  days  and  starry  nights,  as  on  some  lake 

Embosomed  in  the  silent  hills  or  hid 
In  summer's  leafy  woods,  the  way  we  take, — 

The  gallant  ship  and  I — where  she  was  bid. 
Ne'er  did  her  wing  its  earlier  course  forsake; 

Steady  and  noiseless  through  the  waves  she  glid. 
I  slept  in  calm  repose  and  waked  to  find 
The  sails  still  swol'n  by  prospering  breaths  of  wind. 


105 


The  fourth  day  was  not  spent  ere  something  dim, 
Or  mist  or  land  or  else  a  mocking  cloud, 

Showed  like  a  speck  upon  the  horizon's  rim 

Just  on  our  course.     And  now  a  fluttering  crowd 

Of  little  land  birds  near  the  vessel  skim, 

And  tired  alight  upon  each  bellying  shroud. 

The  signs  grew  thick  ;  nor  had  the  evening  star 

Arisen,  before  some  isle  appeared  afar. 

E'er  it  had  dawned,  upon  the  deck  I  stood, 

And  by  the  moon's  weak  beams,  which  now  began 

To  pale  before  the  day,  appeared  a  wood 
And  mountain  rising  darkly  in  the  van. 

Soon  rippling  waves  spoke  of  a  shoaler  flood, 
And  soon  a  coast  my  straining  eye  could  scan, 

Which  bent  on  either  hand,  and  clasped  around 

A  harbor  calm  with  sheltering  woodlands  crowned. 


106 


Onward  I  pass,  until  the  faithful  prow, 

Like  some  small  wherry's,  grazes  on  the  sand, 

Then,  knowing  that  the  task  is  ended  now, 
It  reins  its  course,  that  I  may  safely  land. 

Straight  I  obeyed  :  and  ere  day's  golden  brow 
Had  looked  abroad  above  the  horizon's  band, 

My  footsteps  fall  upon  the  even  shore, 

Glad  that  they  touch  their  mother  earth  once  more. 

The  beach  was  sprinkled  o'er  with  wondrous  hues 
Of  rarest  gems  and  shells  not  elsewhere  seen. 

Jacinth  and  beryl  here  their  light  confuse 

With  prase's  golden  flash,  and  emerald's  green ; 

And  hollow  balls  lie  thick  with  crystal  blues 

Of  amethyst  lined,  'mid  conchs  of  silvery  sheen. 

On  such  a  strand  by  lady's  prowess  fell 

The  nymph-born  knight,  who  followed  Florimel. 


107 


Long  strayed  I  here  with  wonder  for  my  guide, 

Pleased,  like  a  child,  with  jewels  sparkling  bright, 

Until  the  morning  fogs  ascending,  hide 

The  sun's  new  beams,  and  steal  the  hills  from  sight. 

Then  sharing  in  the  common  gloom,  I  cried, 
"  Sad  augury  this  that  day  has  turned  to  night : 

A  dreary  land  is  here,  to  which  is  given 

With  hills  and  coasts  unmatched  a  murky  heaven. 

Why  have  I  wandered  from  those  skies  of  gold 

That  cheer  my  country's  plains  and  gem  her  floods, 

And  from  those  autumn  sunsets  that  behold, 
With  rival  colors  shining,  clouds  and  woods  ; 

Such  is  the  mist,  as  travellers  oft  have  told, 

That  over  Scotland's  choicest  landscapes  broods, 

Where  peaks  are  climbed  to  look  abroad  in  vain, 

And  lakes  that  laugh  in  verse  are  sad  with  rain." 


1 08 


Thus  in  my  foolish  haste  I  spake,  nor  knew 

As  yet  the  nature  of  that  holy  isle; 
That  he  who  mysteries  so  high  would  view 

With  awe  must  venture  near  the  solemn  pile  ; 
In  darkness  cross  the  threshold,  with  his  shoe 

Plucked  from  his  foot,  withouten  word  or  smile. 
Then  all,  whose  day  with  prayerful  awe  begins, 
To  them  the  darkness  yields,  and  morning  shines. 

Meanwhile  the  mist  broods  o'er  the  forest  thick, 
And  thunders  'gin  to  bellow  from  the  hills. 

The  lightnings  smite  the  ground  with  flashes  quick, 
And  roaring  wind  the  beasts  with  terror  fills. 

It  was  not  now  the  time  my  way  to  pick, 
With  dainty  step  crossing  the  swollen  rills 

Mid  pouring  rains :  some  shelter  must  be  found, 

Some  grot  or  coppice  next  this  holy  ground. 


109 


I  looked  abroad,  and  at  my  left,  not  far 
From  where  I  stood,  a  hill,  unseen  before, 

Rose  o'er  the  cloud,  its  peak,  bright  as  a  star, 

Crowned  with  white  rock  ;  its  slope  a  grassy  floor 

Through  openings  in  the  mist  descried;  but  where, 
Touching  the  plain,  its  base  approached  me  more, 

Dark  woods  of  oak  and  pine  their  circle  drew 

Around  the  mount,  and  shelving  rocks  gleamed 
through. 

In  haste  the  woods  I  seek,  but  sought  in  vain 
Shelter  beneath  the  branching  oaks  to  find, 

When  every  leaflet  fall  its  load  of  rain  ; 
Nor  could  I  hide  some  giant  trunk  behind 

From  blasts  that  blew  o'er  mountain  and  o'er  plain, 
Nor  crouch  unwet  beneath  some  thicket  blind. 

So  for  the  rocks  I  steer  whose  shelving  side 

Showed  like  a  harbor  with  a  peaceful  tide. 


no 


There  what  I  sought  I  found  ;    nor  needed  long 
To  search,  nor  far,  for  bordering  all  the  wood, 

Just  where  the  light  was  neither  dim  nor  strong, 
High  overhanging  rocks  in  order  stood. 

The  floor  was  smooth,  with  no  sharp  edge  or  prong, 
Nor  wind  nor  rain  could  reach  that  refuge  good. 

So  slept  I  soon,  and  when  I  woke,  the  sun 

Told,  through  the  clouds,  that  half  his  course  was  run. 

There  stayed  I  long :  I  knew  not  where  to  go, 
Nor  did  I  wish  to  leave  so  strange  a  spot; 

And  much  I  mused  and  much  I  sought  to  know 
Why  thither  I  was  led,  but  guessed  it  not. 

But  fear  disturbed  me  not  of  lurking  foe, 

And  hunger's  stern  demands  were  all  forgot ; 

For  some  deep  charm,  guarding  the  place  around, 

Bade  me  explore  that  hidden  holy  ground. 


Amid  the  ledges  many  a  cavern  wild 

Its  dusky  chamber  for  retirement  made, 

Across  whose  mouths  the  fallen  rocks  were  piled, 
In  shapes  grotesque;    and  hemlock's*   thoughtful 

Its  silence  threw  around,  for  fancy's  child  [shade 

A  harbor  blest;  where,  as  he  laid  his  head, 

Religious  dreams  fell  softly  to  the  earth, 

Shedding  a  trembling  light,  like  moonbeams,  forth. 

There  whoso  was  not  made  of  sterner  mould, 

Nor  wrapped  around  with  mantle  thick  of  sense, 

With  lighter  footstep  treading  entered  bold, 
Nor  could  a  vulgar  business  call  him  thence. 

There  the  fair  shapes  of  things  that  none  behold 
Who  love  not  beauty  with  a  love  intense 

So  bright  appeared  and  manifest,  that  all 

Seemed  gathered  like  the  guests  in  festal  hall. 

*The  abies  canadensis,  or  hemlock  spruce  is  often  so  called. 


112 


Whether  I  stayed  there  day  or  week  or  year, 
I  know  not,  for  all  sense  of  time  had  fled; 

But  so  it  was,  one  morn  there  caught  my  ear 
A  sound  of  steps  treading  on  branches  dead, 

Far  off  at  first;  but  as  they  hastened  near 
An  evident  human  shape  my  eyelids  fed. 

No  woodman  wild  he  seemed  and  armed  with  bow, 

But  poet  crowned,  in  mantle  falling  low. 

Something  now  told  my  thought  that  this  was  he 
Who,  led  by  Roman  bard,  the  land  of  pain 

Explored,  and  next  the  mountain  in  the  sea 

Where  souls  were  purged  from  every  earthly  stain ; 

Last  climbed  the  heights,  where  God's  felicity 
Angels  do  taste  and  Jesu's  ransomed  train. 

Oh !  blessed  one,  to  whom  such  visions  bright 

Were  shown  beyond  the  reach  of  mortal  sight. 


Then  bowing  low,  I  cried,  "O  Europe's  boast 
And  much  revered  beyond  th'  Atlantic's  wave, 

Once  stood  T  in  th'  old  town  on  th'  eastern  coast 
Of  Italy,  beside  thine  honored  grave. 

And  doth  my  eye  behold  thee?     If  thou  know'st 
Tell  me  the  secrets  of  this  wondrous  cave, 

Why  hither  was  I  brought  ?     Why  art  thou  here 

A  spirit  from  some  high  celestial  sphere? 

A  smile  arose  upon  his  serious  brow 

As  there  my  rapid  questionings  met  his  ear. 

"  Son,  I  will  tell  thee  all,"  he  said,—"  for  thou 
Wast  brought  on  that  enchanted  ship  to  hear 

The  secrets  of  this  sacred  isle — e'en  now 
The  pilgrim  poets  come  from  far  and  near. 

The  day  draws  nigh,  when   Phoebus  holds  his  court 

And  we  his  ministers  must  make  report. 


114 


With  them  a  few  like  thee  who  ne'er  have  sought 
To  bind  a  crown  of  laurel  on  their  head 

Are  summoned  hither:  therefore  wast  thou  brought 
To  this  enchanted  island,  to  be  fed 

With  sight  and  speech  of  poets  high  who  taught 
Wisdom  in  song,  and  thy  young  fancy  led 

To  choose  before  the  painted  forms  of  art 

High  thought,  in  native  verse,  fresh  from  the  heart." 

Master,  I  said,  fain  would  I  follow  thee 

Where'er  thou  leadest  o'er  this  wondrous  shore; 

For  thou  wast  aye  a  reverend  name  to  me  ; 
And  thy  divine  Com  media,  ]\\s\.  before 

My  charmed  voyage  o'er  the  unknown  sea, 
Guided  my  feet  the  world  unseen  to  explore. 

But  gladlier  now  I  see  thee  face  to  face, 

And  hear  thy  speech,  and  thy  wise  footsteps  trace. 


So  thither,  in  the  dewy  morning  tide, 

He  led  me  from  the  enchanted  caves  away 

Until,  when  noon  was  past,  my  eye  descried 
An  ample  plain,  washed  by  the  ocean  spray 

Where  the  sun  rests  at  even  ;  on  either  side 

Begirt  with  hills;  but  towards  the  opening  day 

A  wooded  mountain  climbed  the  heavens  on  high 

Above  the  loftiest  clouds  that  sail  the  sky. 

And  where  that  king  of  mountains  rests  his  feet, 
— His  lower  hills  and  ridges, — on  the  plain, 

Innumerous  rivulets,  descending,  meet 

In  one  broad  stream  ;   which,  ere  it  finds  the  main, 

Prolongs  its  path  in  many  a  winding  sweet 
As  were  it  loth  its  destined  end  to  attain. 

There  trees  of  every  leaf,  its  path  along, 

A  shelter  yield  for  birds  of  every  song. 


116 


Nearer  we  drew,  and  lo  !  o'er  all  the  ground, 

From  mountain  slopes  and  from  the  wave-washed 

Full  many  a  choir  of  men  with  laurel  crowned  [shore, 
Were  pressing  toward  some  dome,  unseen  before 

Now  glistering  through  the  forest;  some  we  found 
In  grave  procession  joined  like  priests  of  yore; 

Others  with  voices  loud  to  stringed  lyre 

Sang  hymns  of  joy  breathing  celestial  fire. 

"Here  we  have  reached   the  goal;"  thus  spake   my 
"  For  this  the  mystic  ledges  did  prepare  :      [guide; 

My  work  now  calls  me  hence  to  leave  thy  side, 
And  thou  henceforth  my  further  aid  canst  spare 

Until  the  feast  is  o'er:  for  eventide, 

Hunger  and  rest  and  sleep  thou  need'st  not  care. 

One  calm  arid  gladsome  day  thine  hours  will  seem, 

Or,  whether  night  or  day,  a  peaceful  dream. 


117 


But  mark  thou  this,  it  is  a  mystery 

Which  here  the  chosen  poets  celebrate, 

Not  to  be  laid  before  the  common  eye 
Nor  given  to  favored  witness  to  relate  : 

And  whoso  cometh  in  base  treachery 
To  publish  what  he  sees,  it  is  his  fate 

That  on  his  soul  oblivion  deep  must  fall, 

Nor  can  he  aught  he  hears  or  sees  recall. 

But  they,  who,  hither  brought  by  one  who  knows 
The  inner  secrets  of  this  wondrous  place, 

Shall  hide  them  in  their  hearts,  nor  aught  disclose 
Save  outward  forms  of  things, — to  them  a  grace 

And  sweetness  shall  be  given  and  blest  repose ; 
And  song  shall  drive  away  all  passions  base. 

What  in  those  caves  and  here  they  learn  shall  live 

Within  their  souls  and  lasting  solace  give." 


118 


He  left  me  now,  and  to  the  temple  bound 
Seemed  to  my  eye  the  first  to  reach  the  hall, 

And  enter  ;  while  the  throng  that  swarmed  around, 
Following  his  steps,  seemed  into  ranks  to  fall. 

Admonished  by  imperious  trumpets'  sound 
Glad  they  obey  the  far-resounding  call, 

And  soon  they  climb  the  steps;  but  I  below 

Waited,  observant  of  the  goodly  show. 

And  some  there  were,  who  seemed  a  merry  throng, 

Obedient  to  no  law,  no  company 
Of  poets  wise,  but  singing  each  his  song 

Of  love  and  wine  and  wanton  revelry; 
They  sung  discordant  notes,  but  in  the  song 

Was  that  which  could  have  charmed  both  earth  and 
If  they  had  played  the  sacred  poet's  part,  [sky, 

Nor  shamed  by  lays  obscene  the  heavenly  art. 


119 


These  sought  a  place  within  the  goodly  band 

Whom  earth  and  time  in  constant  reverence  hold 

But  some  grave  priest  of  song,  with  lifted  hand 
And  sternest  voice  repelled  their  claim  too  bold  ; 

"  Ye  who  with  lays  obscene  defile  the  land 
Or  drunkard's  songs  indite,  or,  lured  by  gold, 

Flatter  the  vice  of  courts,  or  basely  sneer 

At  simple  faith,  ye  find  no  entrance  here." 

So  they  were  driven  from  those  halls  in  shame, 
And  I  was  left  alone,  when  one  drew  nigh, 

—A  servant  of  the  place, — who  spoke  my  name 
And  bade  me  follow  through  the  portals  high. 

"  Sit,  stand  or  walk,"  he  said,  "  'tis  all  the  same, 
Stay  through  the  feast  or  seek  the  outer  sky, 

Only  obey  the  Master  and  conceal 

Within  thy  bosom  what  these  halls  reveal." 


120 


I  entered,  and  throughout  the  feast  I  stayed, 
I  saw  those  worthies  honored  by  all  time  ; 

I  heard  their  high  discourse;  each  reverent  shade 
(If  shades  they  were),  I  watched;  their  hymns  sublime 

To  music  wedded  all  my  cares  allayed. 

Nought  from  their  lips  that  fell,  in  prose  or  rhyme, 

My  ear  escaped;  fixed  to  the  place  I  stand, 

All  else  forgotten  save  that  laureate  band. 

But  I  must  put  a  lock  upon  my  tongue, 
And  hide  in  silence  what  lip  may  not  tell. 

So,  when  the  last  of  those  glad  odes  was  sung, 
And  the  last  sounds  from  each  resounding  shell 

Trembled,  and  those  high  courts  xvith  plaudits  rung, 
And  those  guild-brothers  spake  the  last  farewell, 

They  chose  their  paths  toward  hilltop  and  toward  sea, 

And  none  remained  of  all  the  company. 


121 


Amazed  I  stood  awhile,  and  then  I  said 

"  Why  am  I  here,  and  what  were  those  who  sought 
This  hall  of  song,  and  vanished,  as  if  made 

By  fancy,  or  from  spirit-dwellings  brought? 
And  what  was  he — a  human  form  or  shape, 

Who  found  me  and  my  ignorant  footsteps  taught  ? 
And  all  these  wonders — are  they  what  they  seem, 
Or  naught  save  airy  clouds  and  empty  dream?" 

While  thus  I  spake,  the  Master  at  my  side 
Apparent  flesh  and  blood,  with  smiling  eye 

Stood  manifest,  and  "  I  am  here  "  he  cried, 
"  To  guide  thee  from  the  land  of  mystery 

Back  to  the  uncertain  barriers  that  divide 

This  isle  from  lands  where  human  dwellings  lie." 

So  led  he,  and  T  followed,  filled  with  awe. 

Dazed  by  the  marvels  that  I  heard  and  saw. 


122 


Oft  looked  I  back  upon  that  golden  dome, 

Oft  turned  to  greet  that  mountain  and  that  sea; 

Then  on  my  journey  reached  my  former  home, 
Those  rocks  and  caves  that  waked  my  soul  to  see 

The  glories  of  the  earth,  and  bade  me  roam 

Through  all  the  realm  of  thought  with  spirit  free 

Then  toward  the  strand  within  the  peaceful  bay 

He  led  me  where  the  enchanted  vessel  lay. 

And  all  along,  while  we  pursued  our  road, 

His  high  discourse  did  purge  my  listening  ear. 

The  minstrel's  craft  he  extolled,  and  sternly  chode 
Those  that  will  sing  whate'er  men  wish  to  hear. 

Poets,  said  he  "  are  priests  of  highest  God ; 
His  sacred  seers,  who  by  no  faithless  fear, 

Nor  love  of  praise,  nor  sneer,  nor  lash  of  scorn 

From  truth's  most  holy  law  can  e'er  be  torn." 


123 


Then  spake  he  of  the  argument  of  song, — 
That  it  should  come  unbidden  to  the  heart, 

And  bear  the  mind  on  willing  wing  along 

Drawing  from  springs  beyond  the  reach  of  art. 

Next  careful  toil  must  lay  foundations  strong, 
And  patient  thought  must  act  the  judge's  part. 

And,  though  its  knife  impartial  taste  employ, 

Smoothly  the  work  must  run  and  full  of  joy. 

"  Master,"  said  I,  "there  are  who  gravely  teach 
That  poets'  words  are  nought  and  thought  is  all : 

There  are,  again,  who  hold  that  polished  speech, 
Gilding  mean  thought,  for  loudest  praise  should  call. 

Others  maintain  that  these  have  failed  to  reach 
The  mark,  and  from  the  path  of  truth  do  fall. 

The  thought,  they  say,  and  word  from  birth  are  one  ; 

Nor  poet's  thought  nor  word  can  walk  alone." 


124 


"The  word,"  said  he,  "and  thought,  of  equal  birth 
Born,  and  in  equal  nuptials  joined,  must  be 

Of  heavenly  strain  alike,  or  from  the  earth  : 
Thought  doth  not  wait  on  words  a  soul  unfree, 

But  shapes  a  body  like  itself  in  worth  ; 

High  thought  in  dress  of  glorious  majesty 

Unconscious  clothes  itself,  and  vulgar  thought 

Puts  on  a  texture  mean  itself  hath  wrought." 

"  They  are  not  poets  who  with  words  begin, 

Nor  they  who  naked  thought  first  bring  to  light, 

Then  hide  its  baseness  by  the  glittering  sin 

Of  studied  words  that  thought  conceal  from  sight. 

There  is  no  style  that  poet's  art  can  spin, 
Unless  his  soul  be  swayed  by  visions  bright. 

Taste,  like  a  light-winged  genius  from  the  sky, 

Will  choose  our  words  for  us,  we  know  not  why." 


125 


In  such  discourse  we  reached  th'  enchanted  caves, 
And  rested  there  a  while  in  silence  sweet: 

Then  end  our  journey  where  the  sparkling  waves 
The  jewel-sprinkled  shore  with  gladness  greet. 

The  ship  is  there,  her  prow  the  water  laves 
Her  stern  upon  the  strand  finds  safe  retreat: 

The  hour  has  come  to  bid  farewell,  it  seems, 

To  my  kind  guide  and  to  this  home  of  dreams. 

"  Farewell,"  said  he,  "and  may  this  dreamy  land 
Dwell  in  thy  thought  with  joys  that  will  not  fade." 

A  reverent  kiss  I  printed  on  his  hand, 

Then  vanished  he  from  sight.     The  southern  gale 

Slowly  our  bark  was  pushing  from  the  strand; 
My  hour  had  come  her  magic  side  to  scale; 

The  sails  are  swollen,  the  airy  shapes  are  here, 

Ready  as  erst,  my  homeward  course  to  steer. 


126 


Forthwith  asleep  I  fell,  and  all  the  way 

A  cloud  of  poets  seemed  my  voyage  to  attend, — 

The  old  world's  bards  with  those  of  yesterday, 
Grave,  beauteous  forms  but  joyous,  such  as  send 

Pure  peace  into  the  soul,  and  cares  allay 

And  heavenly  hues  to  all  that  charms  us  lend. 

No  strangers  did  they  seem,  I  talked  with  all, 

And  every  honored  name  at  once  could  call. 

As  in  those  caves,  where  erst  the  heavens  and  earth 
Offered  their  beauties  to  my  inward  eye, 

Rousing  my  fancy  to  a  second  birth 
By  all  the  glories  of  the  outer  sky; 

So  here  th'  elect  ones  poured  their  treasures  forth 
Of  thoughts  which,  once  received,  can  never  die. 

Here  learned  I  first  that  mortal  thought  can  weave 

Words  that  through  thousand  centuries  can  live. 


127 


But  all  things  have  an  end  ;  those  guests  so  sweet 
(How  long  their  stay  I  knew  not,  nor  how  short) 

At  last,  my  voyage  o'er,  on  airy  feet 

Rejoined  the  herd  of  dreams,  who  make  report 

Of  human  cares  and  loves  and  fancies  fleet, 

And  fill  our  hours  of  rest  with  mocking  sport. 

Yet  all  was  not  a  false  or  idle  dream, 

Nor  of  mean  birth,  nor  on  a  vulgar  theme. 

For,  in  the  evening  hours,  while  night  drew  nigh, 
The  steps  of  two  beloved  ones  I  had  led 

Where  Dante  climbed  the  mountain,  steep  and  high, 
Ascending  from  the  prisons  of  the  dead. 

Then  through  night's  hours  the  visions  from  the  sky 
Poured  clouds  of  softest  light  around  my  head. 

At  morn  the  bark,  so  seemed  it,  on  the  strand, 

Struck,  and  I  woke  to  see  my  native  land. 


128 


And  so  all  is  not  real  that  is  true; 

Nor  is  all  true  that  takes  an  outward  form. 
The  poet's  words  to  truth  give  colors  new, 

The  wise  man's  words  may  juggling  tricks  perform. 
Truth  near  us  lies ;  yet,  hidden  from  our  view, 

Sends  flashes  brief  from  o'er  the  cloud  and  storm. 
Blest  are  those  thoughts  that  vision-like  unfold 
What  science  ne'er  hath  taught  nor  sense  hath  told. 

But  ah  !  our  noblest  visions  cannot  stay  : 

And  more, — our  loved  ones  leave  their  homes  to  die ; 

For  those  two  dear  ones,  speeding  on  their  way 
O'er  seas  and  peopled  plains  and  mountains  high, 

Entered  the  mystic  East,  and  lands  that  lay, 
Old  in  renown,  beneath  the  Syrian  sky. 

Then,  where  their  dearest  Lord  was  crucified, 

Smit  by  disease  a  common  death  they  died. 


129 


They  found  a  brighter  world,  if  aught  be  true 
That  seers  divined,  or  rapt  apostles  told, 

Or  saintly  ones  have  hoped,  or  Christ  foreknew  : 
They  saw  those  gates  of  pearl  and  streets  of  gold. 

And  Him  who  said  "  Lo,  I  make  all  things  new," 
Purged  from  earth's  blindness,  did  their  eyes  behold. 

O  may  I  see  their  spotless  forms  again 

In  that  true  land,  where  visions  are  not  vain. 


13751 

• 

U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


